And Long the Mile
by CarefulMimicry
Summary: Malcolm Hawke stumbles upon a young and unconscious elf on his daily walk through the forest. He takes the elf home. Life won't be easy, and trust will be hard earned but everyone is willing to try to make Leto feel at home. That is, until the Grand Tourney comes to town and Leto must choose between his freedom and the freedom of his mother and sister. **NOW IN SEARCH OF A BETA!**
1. Prologue: Things

_"There are things that make me mad, but you are not one of them._  
 _There are things that make me sad, but you are not one of them._  
 _There are things that make me Dad, you seem to be all of them."_  
 ** _-Barenaked Ladies (Things)_**

The sun drooped low in the sky, final, feeble rays clinging to cloud, tree and house alike in a last, desperate attempt to hold it's place. Alas, with each passing second, with each weary step of a bedraggled traveller the sun slipped slowly 'round the bend in the earth; relinquishing it's hold to the mighty and waiting moon. The man sighed softly as the last warm tendrils of day seeped from his back, shrouding his world in a cool wind and heavy shadows. The trees stretched over his head, pillars of the night, drenched in ominous shadow. This was not a time for wanderers, but a time for fiends and demons. Yet there he was, a lone figure weaving his way down a long and winding path home. WIth a hushed word and fleeting motion the stone set in the woven sprigs of his walking staff began to glow, chasing the deepening shadows away, causing them to cluster and scurry and dance around the edges of the man's vision.

The man was not afraid. These woods hadn't long been his friend but he could hear it call to him. He could feel the motion of the trees, the sway of the grass, could understand the song of flora and fauna that hummed softly around him. It was for that reason that his steps faltered, just once, as he rounded a bend in the wood. Here there was a missing whisper, a silent hole where the daisies should be rustling and dancing in the evening breeze. There should be the lonesome call of a nightingale awaiting it's mate on the small, glimmering pond. There should be the low baritone of the toads and the easy splashing of Sunfish. Instead there stood a bottomless silence that rang into the man's very bones. Something was deeply wrong.

But it didn't feel dangerous. It didn't feel threatening or haunting. It just felt wrong. The evening traveller swept the end of his staff in a few short arcs and murmured a word of power and slowly a sigil shimmered into life on the path below his feet. With deliberate, careful steps the figure tread away from the beaten road he knew so well and towards the small, silver pond not fifty feet ahead. As he approached the silence only grew more profound, causing his ears to ring and his heart to race, despite himself.

 _Malcolm, you fool. There are no such thing as ghosts and you can handle any demon these fickle shadows could hope to summon._

As he reached the edge of the pond he spied a shadow that didn't match the pattern of undergrowth and trees. With hurried steps he moved around the bank, never letting his eyes leave the darkened spot for fear it would disappear. When he reached it he knelt and lowered his staff to allow the light to bathe the object and uncover it's true form.

There were no Dalish in the area that Malcolm knew of. No nomadic tribes of any sort for that matter. And certainly none that an Elf would be associated with. The only Elves in Lothering were servants or slaves, or too poor and broken to be either. And even those were few and far between. Most elves lived in the massive Alienage in Denerim, not in some, mid-way farming town on the outskirts of the Hinterlands. So to find such a person here, clothes tattered, body dirty, scratched and cold beyond shivering, and a child no less was bewildering. Malcolm had a kind heart, and children of his own, and so to see the poor boy curled under a pile of dirt and leaves, his hair dark or just caked in mud and... blood? Was that blood? All thoughts froze in that moment and the man wasted no more time pondering the circumstances.

He removed his own cloak and quickly bundled the wild boy in it, carefully juggling his staff and the far-too-light-to-be-healthy elf as he made his way quickly back to where his sigil glowed low and welcomingly on the beaten path. A scuff of his foot erased all evidence of the magic and Malcolm rushed home with a new sense of purpose, no longer strolling to enjoy the night and the world he had so long been deprived of. He was too tired and weary to heal the poor child, not did he care to try his hand at magic so out in the open. Even if he was in a forest, even if it was night, even if he hadn't seen another sentient being in over an hour. It didn't matter, he couldn't afford to be caught, to leave his wife and three young children to fend for themselves in a foreign land when he had been the one to drag them here.

He wasn't far from home and before long the soft, inviting glow of the little, warm house rolled into view through the trees. The mage had barely made it halfway up the walk when his eldest was already bursting through the door into the chilled night to greet him.

"Dad! Dad lookit! Lookit what I made!" The small boy was charging towards him with determination in his eyes and one hand held high, brandishing his latest creative endeavour. On any other night Malcolm would have stopped and knelt down, swinging his son into the air and then chased him back inside with monstrous barks and growls. But that night he was too preoccupied. He rushed past the small boy and straight into the house where his dear and loving wife was waiting anxiously by the fire, rocking one of their twin babies to sleep. "Malcolm...?" She carefully placed the bundle back into the crib and followed her husband into their bedroom where he was laying out the elven boy and unwrapping the cloak. "Build up the fire, will you, Leandra?"

"Malcolm, what is-" She froze, blinking in astonishment at the package he had brought with him, "Malcolm, what- who is that?" Her voice was quiet, shaken, almost scared. What a world they lived in that any stranger, even a beaten, unconscious and lost elf child was a source of worry and fear. What world had he brought them to that this was enough to shake his strong, loving and fearless wife?

"Just a boy. I found him on my way home, please, we need to warm him up, I promise we'll talk after." Leandra pursed her lips but nodded, retrieving firewood and stoking the fire high, causing the room to heat in minutes and a fine sweat to break out on her forehead. Her own boy, his art project abandoned was perched in the doorway, craning his neck around the corner to see what his parents were in such a hub-ub about. "Sweetie," she swiftly strode over to him and crouched in front of him, holding on to his shoulders, her pale eyes meeting his electric blue, "go run and grab daddy some of his Lyrium potions, okay? You remember where they are?" The boy nodded and broke free of his mother to scurry off to the small trap door under the worn rug in the kitchen. Down the ladder into their hand-made basement, where they kept all evidence of Malcolm's magic, he loaded his arms with as many potions as he could carry and not drop. Back up the ladder and back to his parents room he raced, stumbling on the door frame but managing to keep hold of all the glowing, glass bottles.

His father kissed his head quickly and pulled one free from his grasp, tipping it back with a scowl and moving back to the unconscious boy's side. "Leandra, take Garrett into the living room, please?" The woman nodded and scooped their son up, carefully lining the other two bottles up on the mantle, before stepping out of the room and closing the door with a soft click behind her. Malcolm did not sleep until the sun once more was pulling itself creepingly into the sky. Garrett was long asleep by that point and Leandra had tucked him into his own bed before creeping back into the room she shared with her beloved husband. He was in a deep sleep in a cushioned chair by the bed and she took a moment to cover him with a spare quilt before she approached the small figure in the bed.

He was dirty, disgusting and scrawny but no longer shivering, and no longer covered in cuts and bruises. With a small sigh she stroked his dark, crusted hair back over one finely pointed ear. Maker, did he frighten her, this stranger, this unknown quantity in their tiny house of secrets and danger. But he was still a child and she was still a mother and so with no further thought she warmed up a pitcher of water over the fire, grabbed some soap and a few rags and took to cleaning the boy. She wiped away the crud on his face, uncovering encrusted tear tracks, causing her to give a soft cluck in distress. Then his neck and body, throwing the rags he wore as clothing into a pile on the floor. His arms and legs were next, her strokes slow and methodical, careful to clean each finger and toe, scrub each crease and nail, replacing the water and rag when needed before returning to her task. And as she cleaned she began to hum a soft lullaby she often sang to her own children.

She had just finished churning the last dirt loose from his scalp when she felt a warm hand on her arm and a weight on her opposite shoulder. Malcolm sighed into her neck and pressed a kiss there, stroking her arm with a soothing, gentle hand. "You haven't slept all night." Was the soft, low whisper. She shook her head and gave a little shrug, careful not to dislodge his head, "Someone needs to take care of this family." She could feel his smile against the soft skin of her neck and tilted her head to rest against his. "I'm going to fetch him some of Garrett's sleeping clothes, would you change out the blankets, it's filthy." Malcolm nodded and released her. But before she could leave he caught her hand and pulled her back to him. She supressed a surprised giggle and lightly slapped his chest, "You big oaf." She teased, pecking his nose.

The mage smiled and brushed her fine, blond hair out of her face before cupping her cheek and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, "You are so wonderful." He whispered to her, his dark eyes locked onto hers, "You are so brave and kind and I must be the luckiest man in the world." Her face flushed red and she looked away, "Lucky that you got me with child before Count prissy pants or Duke old hag had the chance." Malcolm almost roared with laughter, but burried it in her hair as he pulled her tight to him, "And people say I've the sharp tongue."

She pulled away with a smile and left to fetch something for the poor boy to wear. When she returned Malcolm was just placing the elf back in bed, on fresh sheets and quilts. He helped her dress him and tuck him in. "I'll make breakfast, you stay here and rest. You need it. And someone should be here in case he wakes up..." Malcolm paused a long, sad look crossing his face, "If he wakes up, I suppose..." Leandra touched his shoulder and guided him out of the room, "Keep your mind occupied, don't fret. You've done all you can and that is a lot. He will be fine."

Malcolm nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead and left the room to make breakfast for the family and, hopefully, their new guest. His mind was a whirlwind of questions and anxious energy, but above all he just hoped he'd done the right thing, he hoped he'd done enough, he hoped he hadn't wait too long. He hoped, above all, that he hadn't brought this boy into a new world of danger and trouble, that he wouldn't have been better off with some one else. And he hoped that small elf would, in time, forgive him for the minimal life of constant worry he was about to endure.

(A/N::Welcome all to fanfic number two! Since so many people seemed to like my other one (seriously y'all are great and get me through the long days) I figured I'd try my hand at something very different. I've never been a fan of fics that just copy and paste what happened in the game, because well... we've all played the game! So this is an AU that will follow the same time line but with significant changes. Namely Leto ran away and was taken in by Malcolm, and the way he gets his tattoos is inspired by an awesome theory by flutiebear on Tumblr called "A long rambly post on Seheron, Fenris's mother".)


	2. Chapter 2

A week of long, stringy days dragged by in the Hawke household. Sun and moon held no power in that small home, at every hour someone was awake. Whether it be watching their new, constantly slumbering guest or rocking in front of the living room fire place with a nervous electricity that wouldn't just go away. Malcolm wove his magic over the elf every day to keep him from starving or dehydrating, to keep his muscles from degenerating and, most of all, to try and stir his sleeping mind. Leandra would stand in the doorway to their bedroom with Garrett clinging to her apron watching as the mage bent low over the child and trespassed deep into his mind. Malcolm would churn through the stalled brain and try to rouse it, jump it into action, do something that would get the elf to wake. But there was no source of the slumber, no cause he could find. Perhaps he was beyond help, perhaps he just needed this much rest. Either way it made Malcolm frustrated and angry. Well, that's how he seemed to his family, but really he was just scared. Scared he had failed this poor boy, and it felt as if he had failed his own son.

"Please," He would whisper during his watch, clutching a tiny hand, "please, wake up." He would press the knuckles of that fist against his lips and wish that fairy tales were real and love and hopes and kisses and dreams had any kind of power in this cruel, corrupted land. He wasn't sure why he was so passionate about this lost boy. It could have been that he felt responsible, or that he reminded him so much of Garrett. But mostly, Malcolm thought, it was because if magic couldn't fix something so pure and innocent and good, something so kind and honest then maybe the Templars were right. Maybe all he was, was a menace to be controlled and counted. He hated himself for the selfish thought, for making someone else's plight about himself but day after day and every time he looked at the elf's face the thought returned. Soon what was a small seed of resentment had rooted and spread, blossoming in his mind into full-fledged hatred for his gift for all the people he'd failed for all the things magic couldn't help, and all the things it just made worse. He could only hope his own children would never know his struggle, this pain.

Towards the end of that week the normal routines of daily life demanded attention once more. Leandra could no longer neglect the flower beds or vegetable garden and Malcolm could no longer make excuses for why he hadn't gone to town to buy food for his family. It was the first step of resignation. Of giving up. Of losing hope, and they both knew it. The silence that morning was almost as heavy as it was that night when Malcolm first found the abandoned child. Breakfast was short and quiet and almost as soon as it started Malcolm was out the door and headed to the woods on his way to the nearest city on their one, rapidly aging, horse.

All of Garrett's usual town friends were busy with something, he didn't know or really care what, and so he sat slumped by the twins' crib. His elbows were propped on the railing and his cheeks smooshed into his hands as he sighed loudly. A part of him wished that his dad would just magic them older so they wouldn't be so little and delicate and sleepy and boring. It was so stupid being the oldest, he thought. You could never have any fun and all you did get were rules. Go to bed, don't do this, eat your dinner, wash the floors, help mother in the garden, fetch dad his potions, blah blah blah. He was only five and he already felt like a stupid, old grown up. He gave the crib a sudden, short jolt, half hoping it would wake just one of the babies up and that baby would put up enough of a fuss to get their mom inside. Maybe she'd play with him if she was stuck inside anyway. Or maybe she'd just shoo him away and swat his bottom for waking the twins. Garrett's face flushed red at that thought and he quickly backed away from the sleeping pair, not wanting to risk the prophecy coming to fruition.

If he left the house mom would worry. If he stayed in he swore he would go crazy. He settled for pacing back and forth across the kitchen, arms crossed, brows knitted, getting himself all worked up into a tizzy. Finally he stomped out to the back yard where his mother was working and gave her skirts a quick yank to get her attention. Leandra turned around, confused for a moment before looking down, a warm smile blooming across her young face at the sight of her eldest son. She put her tools down and crouched before him, trying to tease his hair into some semblance of order. Garrett scowled and ducked away from the hands, feebly swatting to get her to stop. She just laughed and pulled him in for a tight hug. A hug he pretended to simply put up with. A hug he told himself was just for her, because he was a big boy now and far too old for motherly affection. He patted her shoulder, it was something he'd seen his dad do often, and then stepped away.

"Mom, I'm bored." Garrett made sure to drag the word out for a few extra syllables, so that she would know just how dire the situation was. But all she did was sigh softly and rub her face, smudging dirt across her brow when she did. "I'm sorry, sweetie. There's just a lot of work to do." She paused and examined his pouting little face before finally giving in, "How about this, if you promise," she paused to catch his chin between her thumb and finger, making him look right at her, "Garret, if you promise to be a good boy and stay in the house, with all the doors locked, I will go to the apple grove and get us some nice, fresh apples and bake a pie for dessert. Would you like that?" Apples were a rare treat, as they often couldn't afford the expensive produce and The Grove was at least an hour's walk away. But they were Garrett's favorite and his face immediatly lit up and he nodded grandly.

Once again Leandra laughed and she pressed a kiss to his head, "Then run along inside and fetch my basket, then stay inside and I'll go." Garrett did as he was told just as fast as his little legs would carry him. Once he was securely back inside with the doors locked and the curtains drawn on every window his mother waved to his face, which was pressed tight against one window, causing the glass to fog with each breath, which he quickly wiped away, only have return, much to his annoyance, and disappeared into the woods. It might have been considered unwise but Garrett was grown enough to know how to keep himself safe and hidden. He knew how to feed the twins and all the lullabies his mother sang to them and what to do if a stranger came to the door. Besides, she wouldn't be gone for long and there was only so much trouble a small boy could get in, in two hours.

Garrett sat and built towers out of some blocks his dad had bought in Denerim on his last visit. He'd then hide behind the sofa and come stomping out, roaring and bellowing and smashing the little city he had built to pieces. Then he'd build it again and start all over. Every so often Carver or Bethany would awaken and fuss a little but Garrett would rush to their side and rock them, or give them some of a warmed bottle or coo softly to them and they would hush once more, either entranced by their colorful mobile or lulled back into sleep. The house was dark, the little light that crept slyly around the curtains slowly fading and sliding in long lines across the floor and, eventually, up the wall. Garrett wasn't one to worry, but he knew his mom should have been home by now. He knew she was tough, though, dad would tell him all the time just how courageous she was, so he knew she was safe. He was just worried she'd forgotten which way was home, or had been distracted by those nasty healing herbs she always made him chew when he was sick. That would be a poor replacement for apples, he thought.

When he finally tired of building, and scribbling on slate with his chalk, and staring at the babies with weird faces trying to get them to smile or laugh (only Bethany every did, Carver would always just bug his eyes out and frown) he sprawled across the floor and heaved a heavy sigh at the ceiling. Once again, wishing that at least Carver were older so he could teach him to build and play, so they could play pirate and slave, mage and Templar (though only when dad wasn't home because he hated that game), or knight and dragon. He was going to be the best older brother ever, he just knew it. Now if only Carver would be a good little brother already and grow up faster!

But then a sudden thought dawned in his small mind. There was some one he could play with. Well if they'd stop being so lazy and wake up already, his mom and dad never let him sleep past mid-morning, never mind for a whole week! DIdn't that sound nice. To just sleep and sleep and sleep until you had so much energy you could run all the way to Orzamar and back! Garrett scrambled up, his little body all a flurry with excitement at waking his new (soon to be) best friend.

Garrett struggled up onto his parents' giant bed and gave a few quick bounces before flopping down next to the elf, "Pssssst," he hissed, poking at the boy's arm, "Hey you've gotta get up now!"

There was no reply.

Garrett opted to poke his cheek instead, giggling at the way it smooshed up. "Come on lazy boy, get uuuup!"

Still no reply.

Garrett tried everything he could think of. He flicked the long, pointy ears, pinched his nose closed, shook him, jumped on the bed, stuck a spit-wet finger in his ear. Nothing. Nothing worked. When finally he gave up he slumped back against the walled and pulled a pillow against his chest, hugging it close. "You're worse than Carver and Bethany!" He exclaimed, pouting into the pillow. "At least they have an excuse for not being fun!"

How long the pair stayed there like that, Garrett didn't know. Garrett also didn't notice as the small boy's breathing began to fluctuate, slowly shallowing out, speeding up just slightly. He didn't notice as large, vibrant eyes slowly struggled open.

He definitely DID notice the soft cough crackling yelp of surprise from the figure beside him. He tossed the pillow aside and scrambled to his knees, eager to welcome the boy. But the elf was frozen still, eyes wide and flicking around the room in desperation and fear. He scrambled up and struggled to get out of the bed but his body was still too weak, too tired and all he managed to do was kind of flop up into a sitting position. "Hey now!" Garrett reached out a hand to touch the boy's shoulder, "Hey now it's okay, you're safe here! My dad saved you!" The boy cried out and jerked away from the touch, struggling harder to flee.

"No, no no! It's okay!" Garrett was suddenly looking around just as helplessly, wishing his mom or dad would come bursting in suddenly to help him. "Please stop? It's okay, please just stop!" His voice was growing desperate and pleading, his heart began to race and he was close to crying with frustration and nervousness. He'd really messed up now, he knew it. No one was here to help him and he didn't know what to do and now this boy was going to run away or hurt him or something terrible, he was sure. "Please just stop!" He grabbed the elf's arm and shook it nearly losing all control of his little body.

The elf jerked way and nearly tumbled straight out of the bed, but managed to catch himself and only half roll onto the floor. As soon as he was there he scrambled backwards on his but and feet, cowering in the corner and struggling to stand and crying out in... lord in some tongue Garrett couldn't even begin to understand.

"Quo Me? Qui estis? Quid requiras?" He rubbed a his ear, frowning as his finger came back moist, "Quod... Quid hoc?" He quickly resumed his scrambling to stand and let out small grunt and shouts of frustration. Garrett sat helplessly on the bed, alternating between begging him to just hush, please hush, everything would be okay if he would just hush and holding back tears of his own. If the other boy didn't keep it down Bethany and Carver would start fussing and then there'd really be a hot mess going. At that thought, and in that moment the fear and nerves fled Garrett and he quickly scrambled down to the floor in front of the boy, to many more shouts and demands he didn't understand and did the only thing he could think to do to calm him down. He sang.

 _"Goodnight, my child now you must lay down your head,_  
 _you wouldn't want the moon to catch you missing from your bed,_  
 _I wish for only sweet dreams, I wish with all my heart,_  
 _now to sleep you'll be delivered and so I must depart,_  
 _goodnight."_

He had closed his eyes halfway through and, when he opened them the boy was still, staring, blinking slowly. He obviously didn't understand anything Garrett had sung but the singing in and of itself had slowed him a little, calmed him. The oldest Hawke smiled a little and reached out a hand to the strange boy. The boy just looked between it and his face several times before he reached out himself and just kind of awkwardly pressed his palm against Garrett's. His smile grew and he pulled his hand back and pointed to himself, "Garrett Hawke." The boy paused and frowned, a look that seemed almost practiced for him. He simply repeated himself, "Garrett Hawke." The boy worked his mouth a round a couple of times, finally just saying, "Hawke." His voice was soft and had a strange accent to it that sounded almost musical. "Well that's my last name but I guess Garrett can get a little difficult." He laughed and was overjoyed to see the other boy smile a little at his obvious merriment.

"What's your name?" Garrett paused, realizing, at the boy's look of confusion that he had no idea what was just said. Garrett pointed to himself again, deciding to go with what was easiest for the elf, "Hawke." He then pointed at the other boy. The elf sat in silent indecision for a few moments, as if trying to work out what the other boy wanted before he finally murmured, "Leto?" The question in his voice made Garrett's smile grow and he repeated, "Leto. I like it! Well, Leto, it's late, like actual sleep time late and if we stay up the twins will wake up and that's no good, so let me help you back to bed and when dad gets home you can meet him! And mom! She has apples!" Leto just blinked at him a few times before pressing his back against the wall and using it as a prop to help himself stand.

"Good! That was great! Come on now, we can go to my bed so mom and dad can sleep in theirs again." Once more he extended his hand to Leto, this time the elf took it and, albeit with much struggle and limping, followed him across the small hallway and to his room. Garrett flopped into his bed and motioned for Leto to lay down, too but the elf just darted forward, snatched up a quilt and a pillow and curled up with them on the floor in a corner by the door. Garret was going to argue but realized all his words would be lost on the boy so instead he just sighed and shrugged, "Goodnight Leto." The elf boy nodded a little and curled up, surprisingly tired for someone who'd slept so long.

Leandra, who had gotten caught up checking a few of the rabbit traps she had set a day earlier, hurried home and managed to arrive around the same time as Malcolm. They checked that Garrett was in his bed, but when they looked to check on the elf child were surprised to see him missing. They tore through the house, Malcolm even searched through the yard and the edge of the woods but to no avail. Finally Leandra poked her head in her eldest son's room again, making sure the commotion hadn't woken him. She froze then, reaching out only to grab her husband's hand as he approached, pulling him over so he could see, too. The boy was there, on the floor, in the corner, but there, no less, sleeping soundly. Not the dead, still sleep he'd been in before but a light, edgy sleep that breathed of life and spirit. The pair slowly backed out of the room to whisper and prepare a small dinner for themselves.

They spoke late into the night about what to do with the elven boy, Malcolm arguing to keep him, Leandra unsure, questioning if they had the money, the space, if he didn't have family already, what if he was a slave, what if he, too, was a mage, wasn't one apostate quite enough for one household? Eventually they both grew too tired for talk and agreed to sleep on it for the night.

When they went to check on their boy and the elf child the next morning they found the bundled quilt in the corner empty. Instead the boy had curled up on the opposite side of the bed as Garrett but had one hand extended, the barest tips of his fingers resting ever so lightly against Garrett's own hand, which was flopped out in the middle of the bed. At the sudden creep of light into the room Garrett blinked awake and groggily met his parent's gaze. Slowly, carefully so as not to wake Leto he pressed a finger from his other hand to his lips in a ssshhhing motion before he laid his head back down to sleep once more.

Leandra and Malcolm smiled to themselves and left the boys to rest, "I told you, Mal, I told you he'd be fine. You've gone good." She whispered, bumping her hip against his. He chuckled low and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they moved from the hall into the living room, "You did, sweetheart. I should have learned by now never to doubt your great and endless wisdom." She pinched his arm in return for his sass but the smile didn't leave her face, "Maybe we can take him in. He needs a home and surely someone would have come looking for him by now..."

Malcolm just smiled and held her gently as they watched their two twins sleeping deeply, and listened to the soft snores of their older son drift lazily from his room to the living room. Malcolm smirked, "Maker, with a racket like that maybe he was better off in the wilderness." Leandra elbowed his side lightly and scowled disapprovingly which only made him laugh. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright, at least for now.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was only just cresting the trees when Leto awoke from his slumber. With slow, deliberate movements he slipped out of bed and returned to his corner, not wanting to be caught (and not knowing he already had been) in the bed. Hawke cracked one eye and waited for Leto to settle down on his little pile of blankets before he gave a great yawn and made a real show of stretching, as if by emphasizing it he made his pretend slumber more realistic. Leto was too busy doing something very similar to notice the obvious cover-up of the other boy. When they were both quite finished and quite pleased with themselves that they had thoroughly convinced each other that they had indeed just been sleeping and had definitely not moved at all last night Hawke hopped out of bed and held out his hand.

"C'mon, Leto, lemme show you my parents!"

Leto hesitated, glaring down at the hand with such ferocity that Hawke thought it might fall off. But, after a few long, tense moments the elf reached out and pinched the edge of Hawke's pajama sleeve in between a couple of fingers. For his part, Garrett withheld a smile at the silliness of the situation and lead the elf out to the kitchen, where Leandra and Malcolm were sitting, each with one of the twins perched on their laps.

"Momma, dad, this is Leto!" He held up his arm and waved it around a bit, causing the elf to wave as well, he scowled quickly and yanked his hand back, as if offended by the harmless trick. Garrett turned to Leto and pointed to Malcolm, "Daaaaaad." He said slowly, then pointed to Leandra, "Mooooom." He drawled again, smiling encouragingly at him. Leto just pursed his lips in distaste and crossed his arms tightly. Malcolm also frowned and grabbed the wrist Garrett was pointing with, "Garrett Hawke," He scolded, passing Carver off to Leandra and yanking Hawke to him sharply, "I know that this boy is an elf but that does not mean he is a fool or a lackwit. You will treat him with respect just like anyone else in this family, you understand?"

Garrett gave a little whimper and tugged his arm free, craddling it against his chest, "I know dad, jeez..." He looked over at Leto who had taken a few steps back, and seemed to be frantically searching for good hiding spots should such anger be directed his way. "He's not stupid, I know that, and I don't think elves are stupid anyway, he just doesn't understand!" He stomped his little foot and balled up his fists, bright eyes locking onto his father's copper ones. Malcolm rubbed his chin and furrowed his brow, "What do you mean doesn't understand?"

"He doesn't speak the common tongue, dad! Only goble-di-gook!"

This gave Malcolm real pause. If he was from Fereldan at all, or the Freemarches, or almost anywhere, really he would speak the common tongue. It was rare to find a person in these parts that didn't know even a few key phrases. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and rubbing his growing stubble with one hand. "Can you speak?" He asked the elven boy, Leto, he remembered. Leto just stared back, not noticing as Garrett wetted his pinky finger and then jabbed it into his ear quickly before pulling back and stifling a giggle.

Both of his parents reacted at once, "GARRETT!" But before the scolding could begin anew the elf began to speak. He was rubbing at his ear and glaring daggers at Garrett but he was speaking, and it wasn't hard to guess what it was he was saying.

Leandra just frowned, not recognizing the tongue but Malcolm practically gaped at the child, "Garrett..." He managed to say after a few long moments, "Take our new guest outside, why don't you? Show him the garden or your tree swing."

When the boys had left and Leandra had placed the twins inside a blanketed, fenced in section of the living room Malcolm began to speak, "Lea," He seemed almost breathless, "he's from the Imperium." She held still mid-sit and let the words turn over in her mind, "Tevinter?" She finally gasped, half collapsing into her chair, "He's from the Tevinter Imperium?"

"I don't know how he got here. From even the closest point of the Imperium to here, taking a direct route, would take weeks at least. And given that he hasn't learned any of the common tongue my only guess is that he is either from deep within the Imperium or perhaps even Seheron. That's months of travel by foot. With no help? With out being stopped? Leandra, it's a Maker-given miracle he'd alive."

She took a long few minutes to really absorb the reality of the situation, "Does that mean he was a slave? Or, that his family was?" She asked quietly, not daring to meet Malcolm's eyes, she knew his opinions on the Imperium and didn't want to inspire a lecture or a debate.

He shrugged with a heavy sigh, "I... I don't know. Probably. Given that he is an elf and he only speaks Tevene and he displays no signs of any sort of magical ability..." He scoffed, "Even if he did I'd still guess he was a slave. Which makes his presence here an even greater mystery." Malcolm continued to stroke his scratchy chin, shaking his head in bewilderment, "He either ran clear across Nevara and around the entirety of the Orlesian kingdom or he skirted through the Free Marches and somehow made it over through Kirkwall or on some trading ship." He gave a humorless laugh, "I honestly don't know which is more incredulous. The months it would take to get here by land, or the fact that a helpless, lone elvhen child could make it through the Free Marches alive and free."

A long, impossible silence hung between them, each absorbed in their own thoughts and considerations. Leandra was the one to finally break it but sliding her chair back across the floor and gathering flower, apples and sugar from various cabinets, "Well I hope he likes apple pie because he's getting the very first slice tonight." Malcolm tried to meet her kind, open smile with one of his own but failed, trouble and worry washing across his face in great, heaving waves. He settled for a forced press of a smile and stood to exit the kitchen. "We don't need to be attracting any more attention than we already are. We should begin teaching him the common tongue immediately." He left swiftly and followed the sounds of the frolicking boys into the yard. Well the sounds of Garrett ranting on about the grand and mighty dragon he was and how impossible it would be for Leto to defeat him, even if he was the best knight in all of Thedas. Leto merely stood quietly with a flimsy stick in his hands waiting for the gibberish streaming from the other boy's mouth to end.

"Leto, Garrett, come inside, we've got work to do." Both boys turned, the dry, flat tone in Malcolm's voice worring Garrett into obedient silence and at least catching the attention of Leto.

* * *

By the time dinner rolled around Leto had mastered a smattering of basic words, mom, dad, please, thank you, Hawke, Carver, yes, no, house, tree and so on. No sentences, no real verbs but words enough that the very stirrings of communication were possible. Malcolm couldn't speak Tevene but remembered close to ten or so words from his days spent in the Kirkwall Circle reading ancient Imperium scrolls and histories and magical theories. Most of the words he remembered would be of less than no use to Leto but there were a small, select handful that allowed for translation of abstract words- like please and thank you. Malcolm wasn't sure how many of the words would stick with the young elf come morning, but with careful and diligent work every day he might have a working vocabulary within the year. Lessons and the forced exposure would help to encourage that along.

Despite his new grasp of the common tongue Leto was still quiet and solitary throughout dinner, taking what was offered and eating every bite. He probably would have licked the plate if Leandra and Malcolm hadn't continued to place pieces of potato or rabbit on it before he got the chance. There was an edgy, nervous energy about the table and even the twins seemed to feel it and, for once they were both silent and complacent, eating what was offered without throwing a fit (Carver) or swatting the spoon to the floor and giggling joyfully (Bethany). Garrett sat quietly, too, eating as little as he could to fill his stomach, wanting to leave enough for Leto, who seemed much more desperate and starved than himself.

"You should save room for the apple pie!" He finally exclaimed when the silence just became too much. "Mom makes the best pie!" Leto blinked at him and simply repeated, "Apple...?" As if half asking what it was and half asking if he had said it all correctly. Garrett nodded, and simply said, "Apple." As if that settled it.

Leandra finally cleared away the dinner dishes and brought the pie out, dishing Leto a piece first, as promised, then Garrett, then Malcolm and herself. Garrett wolfed his down in a matter of seconds it seemed and Leandra and Malcolm were half-way through their own slices before they realized that Leto had not touched his. "Go on, try it." Whispered Garrett, excitement and anticipation illuminating his eyes. Leto picked at the baked good for a few more seconds before taking a slice of apple onto his fork and biting into it carefully. The smile that followed was perhaps the first expression of any sort of joy or positivity they had seen from him since he had awoken. His whole face brightened and he quickly forked some more into his mouth, exclaiming excitedly through the half-chewed bit, "Apple!"

Malcolm laughed loudly and clapped a hand on his knee, "Who'd've thunk it, the boy likes apples!" The boisterous displayed seemed to frighten Leto and he dropped his fork, shying away from his place, eyes wide and locked onto this man... dad. "Oh, no no, eat, please, enjoy. I didn't mean to scare you!" Malcolm was still chuckling softly as he pressed the fork back into Leto's hand and gestured to his place, "Go on, eat, eat." And eat he did. And he kept eating until the rest of the pie was gone, long after even Garrett had, had his fill.

When he was done Garrett stood and held out his arm to Leto once more, letting the elf take a small pinch of sleeve, "We need to clean our teeth then it's bed time." He explained carefully and lead little Leto to his room so they could do just that. When Leandra had finished cleaning up after dinner and went to her son's room to kiss him goodnight she found the pair were already asleep. Leto in his corner, Garrett curled carefully to one side of the bed, leaving plenty of space for if the elf wished to join him again like last night. She gave a soft, happy hum and carefully tucked both boys in before closing the door and leaving them to their dreams.

* * *

The days churned by and slowly but surely Leto began to learn and grow and, eventually, speak. It was small things at first, always a simple please or thank you. Then he ventured into speaking yes or no, instead of just shaking his head whichever way. Then it was names, mom, dad, Carver, he couldn't quite manage Bethany so he always just stuttered out Bethy, which caught on with the rest of the family much to his subtle delight. And, of course, Hawke. Garrett seemed to throaty or crammed with consonants for him to manage and so he just stuck with Hawke.

It was a slow journey and every step forward had it's stumbles and misunderstandings but as the seasons rolled into one another and the summer sun slid into winter snows the once strange elven child was starting to feel like family. He would hold the twins, or help them sit up and look at picture books with them, he helped Garrett clean the living room and pick the ripened tomatoes, he even started to smile more and everyone swore they had heard him laugh at least once. Garrett was also sure he was teaching Carver the very best was to scowl and frown, as well as the intricate and delicate business of furrowing one's brow properly because his younger brother was definitely improving his repertoire of dissatisfied and disapproving expressions.

But perhaps the biggest step was his slow, careful migration from his little bundle in the corner, to a small mat by Garrett's bed, to the sofa. He still wouldn't fall asleep in the bed with Garrett but around mid-winter it seemed every morning found him curled up under the covers on the opposite side of the bed as his human friend, with one hand just barely brushing one of Garrett's, the other tucked close to his chest and his knees curled around it.

Leandra and Malcolm often remarked that he was a strange little thing but, as they still had little idea what his childhood to that date had been like, it seemed understandable given the assumed circumstances.

* * *

The first real trouble came nearly a year after Leto had joined them. He was really starting to open up and was close to using full sentences, though conjugations and tenses still bested and frustrated him. It hadn't dawned on anyone that Malcolm had never shown the elf his magical abilities, or even mentioned that they existed. Nor had he ever been around to witness them off handedly. He had no idea of the power that lurked deep in the blood and bones of the Hawke line.

And so it was one fine, innocent enough day that unveiled their first, real struggle.

Leto was swinging on the wooden plank that Malcolm had secured to the low branch of a tree in their side yard. Garrett was laughing wildly, and would catch the elf and run forward, ducking under his feet as the boy swung backwards again, and then race to escape those same, flailing limbs as they chased after him on Leto's forward swing. All the joviality and laughter had a small, delighted smile pulling easily at the elf's lips.

Garrett shoved the swing harder than usual on one swing and watch, ready to duck, as it hit the crest of it's arc. But the crest was too high, that moment of pure weightless joy just a little bit too tilted and Leto let out a cry as he lost his grip and began to fall the six or seven feet to the hard, rocky and root-y ground blow. Hawke let out a desperate sob and reached a tiny, grasping, useless hand out, as if that could stop the fall, as if that could prevent the small elf's head from cracking against the hard, unyielding, unforgiving earth below.

But it did.

Just at the moment of impact a small burst of... energy, there was no other word Garrett could think of to describe it rippled up from the earth and cushioned the elf, allowing him a small, short bounce and then a light plop as his but hit the ground lightly in landing. The pair were halted, perfectly frozen, neither entirely sure what had happened. Leto reached the correct conclusion first and immediately scrambled away, as he had that first night upon waking. When his back ran against the thee he fumbled to his knees and bowed himself over, forehead pressed to the filthy, dusty earth, arms extended out before him in a deep, humbling bow. Garrett just stared, confused and frightened.

"Leto... Leto, get up." He whispered, approaching him, but when he did the elf just pressed himself back against the tree as best he could while keeping his head down and eyes averted. "Leto stop!" The elf didn't, and when Garrett reached out to pull him up the boy shook himself free and turned his head away fearfully, shoulders hunching as if expecting a blow, "LETO! THIS ISN'T FUNNY! STOP!" It was at that moment that Malcolm and Leandra made it around the corner to see what all the fuss was about. Upon seeing them Leto scurried up and bolted to the outdoor privy where he locked himself away and hid. Leandra rushed after him while Malcolm slowly, cautiously approached his oldest son.

"Garrett..." It was only a half question, voice low and teasing on the edges of upset, "What happened?"

Garrett just shook his head and shrugged, tears bustling in his eyes, struggling to free themselves and run down his cheeks. "I don't know-" he coughed a little then sniffled, "I just... Leto fell. He lost hold of the swing and fell and I was so scared and I didn't want him to get hurt, and he would have gotten so hurt and I couldn't let him I- I..." And here a little sob escaped, a couple of tears racing to his chin, "I don't know.. He just... bounced.."

Malcolm could almost feel the answer before Garrett gave it and had slowly dropped to his knees halfway through his son's speech. He himself felt like crying. Magic... Mage. His son was a mage. Hadn't he begged the Maker not to do this? Hadn't he prayed and prayed to a god and a prophet he didn't even believe in and asked them this one thing, this one small favor. That his children would never know this struggle, would never have to bear this one cross. One shaking hand settled on Garrett's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze, "It's okay son. Don't be afraid it's just-" He choked on the word, cleared his throat, tried again, "You're just-" again the m caught in his throat, stuffed itself in his vocal chords and refused to budge, to let the rest of the word out. Finally he half spit half coughed it out, "mage." His suddenly old, sorry eyes met Garrett's and he sighed, "You're a Mage."

* * *

It took hours of coaxing and bribing and bargaining and pleading to get Leto to leave the privy. ANd when he did it was as if they were all they back to that first fateful night when he had just awoken. His head was bowed, lips sealed shut, eyes unable and unwilling to meet anyone else's, his expression a placid and unreadable mask. Malcolm reached out to lift him into his arms, as he had a handful of times before (it was an affection that Leto was slowly warming up to). But the elf just dropped to his knees and whispered, "I'm sorry I have upset you-" he paused, frowning and searching his mind in desperation for the word. He didn't know it, he'd never been taught, so he used the only title he knew, "Dominus."

Malcolm didn't need a translation. Malcolm didn't need to be fluent to understand exactly what had happened in this young former-slave's mind. Malcolm didn't need to know even a single word of Tevene to know what that word meant.


	4. Chapter 4

Malcolm crouched in front of Leto with his mouth half agape, not sure what to say, how to say it or how to even begin to break down the walls that had formed around this small boy. Leto, for his part, was kneeling silently before him, eyes suddenly very fascinated by a particular leave, trapped under a bit of dirt and struggling to catch it's freedom on the wind.

"Leto, I am not... Don't call me that."

"You are a Mage?"

"Well, yes, but I am no Magister. I am just a man. An apostate, even!" He scoffed, running a shaking and distressed hand through his endlessly messy dark hair. Leto frowned at the ground and fumbled with this unfamiliar word, "A- Aprostrae... Apostast.. Apostate." He finally said, letting the word hang in the air, feeling it move over his tongue and lips, testing the sound of it. "I don't understand."

Malcolm was unsure how to explain, there was no such word in Tevene, no such people in the Imperium. "I'm... In most places outside of the Imperium Mages are kept in Circles, Mages who choose to live outside the circles," here he paused and scratched his jaw, "who run away or are never found out, are called Apostates."

Leto seemed to shy away more, "A mage unbound by law?" Malcolm sighed, rubbing his face, understanding Leto's thought process and unable to think of any way to correct it that didn't also include a slap upside the head and burning an entire country to the ground for their greedy, selfish stupidity. "Lets just go inside, Leto." He finally murmured, rising and cringing visibly as the elf walked behind him, head still bowed, suddenly so small. This boy. This brave, amazing, miraculous boy who had travelled for months, alone, on foot, through foreign country, over the sea. A six year old who had woven his way through a museum of cities and prairies alone just to find freedom. Who had stolen food and skirted authorities, averted eyes to keep from being noticed. Running in a world that wanted nothing more than to turn him back home without a care. This boy was now cowering, bowing his head and all but crawling around on all fours after him.

Add that to the list of things magic ruined. To the list of reasons the Templars had every right to beat and maim and tranquil. To the list of reasons he wasn't worthy of this life and this family and all he had stolen and broken and destroyed, all the lives ruined just for him to be there, in that moment. There watching a boy better, braver, stronger and more worthy of his life than himself, bow and grovel and trail in his shadow. He wanted to vomit.

Garrett was pretending to play idlely with the twins in the living room, scared and nervous and worried and a whole slew of emotions that were endlessly deep and unreadable on his small face. Malcolm was just tired. Just weary to his bones and exhausted. He retreated to the room he shared with Leandra, shutting the door before Leto could trail him in there as well. The elf, panic washing over him in a great tsunami that he had, in some way, offended the mage scurried over to Garrett and knelt next to him, hoping that by pleasing the son the father might spare him the rod or the whip. Garrett just sighed and huffed, "Leto stop, okay?" He picked at the stuffed Halla at his feet. "This isn't a fun game, it's just stupid." Leto flinched as if physically slapped and shrunk back slightly. "I didn't not mean to offend, Dominus." He whispered, his body curled and quivering, confused and unsure and just scared.

But it wasn't fear, Garrett knew what fear looked like, had seen it in a dozen boys when they had been caught stealing pastries from the bakery in town. What he saw was something else, something deeper, something less recognizable, more complicated than that. It was a resignation. A giving up. Leto wasn't afraid, he was just so thoroughly defeated that there was nothing left. To run so far, so fast and so long, to make a journey that pushed every piece of him to its absolute breaking point, only to wind up there. In the house of more mages, more masters, to end up right where he had started. All his work in vain. Fate, cruel fate and a crueller Maker had delivered him here so that he might know that he would never, never be free. Garrett held out his hand to Leto, wanting to lead him outside, wanting to play and run and laugh and forget all about this horrible morning. But Leto didn't take his sleeve, didn't pinch the rough fabric between fingers as if it was personally offending him.

Instead the elf bent his head and pressed a kiss to the back of Garrett's hand before retreating unto himself again. Garrett cried out, frustated and confused and dismayed, "STOP IT LETO!" He stood and kicked the stuffed Halla across the room, "STOP STOP STOP IT! RIGHT NOW!" Leto dropped his forehead to the floor and clutched tightly at the thread-bare rug, bearing the blunt of his once friend's wrath in silence and stillness, knowing what would come next. And when he heard the slam of Malcolm's bedroom door he knew, for sure that this would be true to what he was expecting.

But it wasn't his arm that Malcolm grabbed, wasn't his body wretched out the back door to be yelled, scolded and possibly beaten. Instead the mage was pulling his son down the hall and out into the back garden. Leto didn't dare imagine what was going on so instead he just shuffled into a corner of the living room and kept his eyes low, not daring to look up as Leandra emerged from the kitchen with a small grimace on her face. It was not her place to get involved, Malcolm would have to handle this, but she had never wanted to scoop someone up and shower them in love and affection as much as she did right in that moment. She fought back the urge with a force of will and returned to cooking in the kitchen.

* * *

"You need to watch yourself, alright? It's not his fault the way he's acting and the way your behavior isn't helping, you hear me?"

Garrett shuffled awkwardly, kicking at the dirt and hanging his head, "I don't get it, dad. It's not a fun game he's playing. It's stupid and I don't like it."

"Well it's not up to him. Where he's from-" Malcolm paused and realized the conversation he was about to have was one that deserved more pomp and circumstance, more age, more experience. It was not an easy thing to tell some one that a people were systematically oppressed. That there existed a place that people hurt, abused and even killed others because they had magic and those others didn't, or weren't as strong. "There's a place called Tevinter. It's far away. And in Tevinter Mages... They're not like me. And they're not like you. All they want is power and fame and they hurt people, sometimes even kill people to get it." He touched Garrett's face, "Leto was a slave to one of these people. He's seen nothing but cruelty and evil from Mages. All he knows about us is that we want to make people bleed and then smile at it."

Garrett only half understood and knew that the only things he had to say would probably make his dad angry or frustrated or get him to prattle on about more politics and things that he would understand even less, so he just shrugged, "Can we go back inside?"

"Only if you understand why stomping about and yelling is only making things worse."

"Yeah, dad... Sure, I get it."

Malcolm pursed his lips but let it go, whether or not he really understood he comprehended enough to know that he couldn't continue to behave as he had been. And that was all he could ask for at the moment. All he could expect from such a young child.

* * *

At dinner that night Leto sat on the floor of the kitchen and only ate the barest scraps of what was offered.

At bed time Leto curled up in the corner of the living room by the fire, as far away from all the other people in the house as possible.

During the day he did all the chores he could see that needed doing, kept his head low and didn't say a word unless it was a 'yes' or 'no' often followed by Dominus. Malcolm refused to feed the fire by giving him the common word, hoping that if he never learned it he might give up. Or maybe, if he never learned it he might learn, instead, to separate his two lives in his mind. Maybe the barrier of language would cleave his two mindsets apart and they would be able to pull back the boy they'd had before. The son they'd had before.

Garrett would watch Leto from across the room as the elf worked and cleaned or organized. He had given up trying to play long ago, days and days ago. And instead he just watched, as if trying to spy an opening, a crack in the facade his friend had erected. Nothing. He discovered nothing, the boy offered nothing and so they remained, one working and behaving as any good slave should, and the other just watching and trying to find ways to break him from his sudden shift in mindset.

Leandra and Malcolm did their best to coax him back out of his shell, refusing to let him eat on the floor, carrying him back to the sofa in the middle of the night, not letting him have access to the cleaning supplies. But every time they turned their heads he was back on the ground, back across the room, had found a random rag and was scrubbing the floor by hand instead of sweeping.

Mages were tricky, he knew, and impatient. They wouldn't wait for you to fail or falter, they would make you do so and then punish you as if it had been your fault all along. They played cruel jokes and cared little for others. And so Leto never let the mages catch him slacking or disobeying. He knew his place, he knew how to avoid their wrath. But avoiding the wrath of Mages was much easier when you were one of a hundred slaves in a large mansion, not the only one in a tiny four-roomed cottage.

The only time he wasn't cleaning was when Malcolm took his son out to train him, try to wrestle his magical ability into his control. Whenever there were lessons going Leto was no where to be found. Often times he'd be hidden under the house, or back behind a tree on the edges of the forest, or even tucked under the sofa if he didn't have time to retreat to some place better. They would want blood, eventually, he knew. He wanted to be as scarce as possible when that day came, and so he hid. Days passed, and eventually weeks, and still he had not been summoned. When weeks turned into a month he stopped hiding. He remained on edge but he no longer scrambled away at the slightest sight or sound of magic. By the time a month turned into two he found himself crouching on a rocking chair at a living room window, poking his head up just high enough to watch the pair in the yard practice their simple spells.

Garrett couldn't do much. He could only form small ice cubes, couldn't maintain a flame in his palm with out it roaring out of control or flickering out in a matter of seconds, couldn't even use magic to balance a rock in the air. Garrett was not a very good mage, Leto concluded. Though, why his father hadn't tried blood magic to help his son along was beyond the elf. Not that he was unhappy about that fact, just the opposite, but he was simply confused.

* * *

But one day Leto fell.

The boy had been balancing on the rocking chair, peering out the window carefully, as usual, when Malcolm had happened to glance over and notice him. Leto was so shocked and surprised that he made to jump back. The old chair gave a great heave which sent him tumbling, his foot caught on the arm and he twisted awkwardly, breaking his hard and sudden fall with one arm. With a sickening and nauseating crack the arm snapped. Leto nearly passed out from the wrench of pain in his gut, almost threw up from the dizziness of adrenaline coursing through his system. He couldn't feel the limb, couldn't move it, and all the could see in his quickly wavering vision was one sharp, so very white bone ripping through the skin and blood, his blood, pooling across the floor.

Malcolm and Garrett were through the door in an instant when they heard the commotion and seen him tumble from view. Leto struggled to gather his wits, to drag himself away. Here it was, what they were waiting for, an excuse to spill his blood and use it. No no no no no. He wouldn't allow it, he wouldn't. So as Malcolm approached he roared at the man and wriggled his body to try to escape.

"Leto, Leto hold still!" When he wouldn't Malcolm called out for his wife, who came rushing in from the garden, the twins (now just old enough to walk) toddling in after her. Bethany clinging to her mother's skirts and Carver glaring disgustedly down at Leto's arm. Leto was suddenly very glad the child couldn't talk yet and speak his mind about how bad the limb looked. Leandra shook her daughter free and rushed over, carefully gathering Leto into her lap. HIs strength was failing and, struggle as he might, she kept a firm hold of him. Malcolm gently raised his arm, examining the destruction closely.

"We need to put it back in, but after that I can fix it." Leandra nodded and held the boy tighter, "Garrett, take the twins to your room, read them a book."

"But mom-"

"I. Said. GO!"

Garrett, who was sure he'd never heard his mother raise her voice to or about anything before quickly gathered up his siblings and shooed them into his room, closing the door behind himself.

"Alright, got him?" Malcolm asked, and Leandra nodded, hugging Leto tighter to her, despite his desperate and pained cries and weakening struggles.

"Leto, this will hurt for just a moment. Just one moment, then it'll be all better, I promise."

"No, no... No it's mine. You can't use it! It's my blood and you can't have it!" He twisted his whole body, trying to lever his arm free, but to no avail. "I don't want your blood, Leto, I want to heal you now stay still for Andraste's sake!" Leto paused in his fight, blinking his wide eyes, "Heal?" Malcolm sighed, exasperated, "Yes!" Then, without further ado he gripped the boy's upper arm and wrist and pulled, grimacing as the bone slid back into it's place, leaving a nasty gash in his skin. The scream that ripped from that small body sounded possessed and both Hawke parents flinched and cringed at the sound. Malcolm pressed his hands around the fracture and wound and soon a low green glow swirled around his hands, sinking deep into tissue, sinew and bone. He knit together what was broken and torn, sewing his magic into the limb, repairing muscle and tendons, bone and flesh and when he was done Leto was left limp and panting in Leandra's arms.

When she released him he scuttled back to his corner, cradling his healed arm and glaring at the pair with confusion and distrust. Malcolm just stood and helped his wife up, "Give him time." He murmured with a shrug, "It's really all we can do at this point." And so they let him stay there all night to nurse his healed wounds and retreat within his young mind to think over what exactly had just happened.

* * *

It was fall, and so storms were frequent. One night played host to a particularly bad one that had the twins curled up in bed with their parents, but left Garrett squeezed around a pillow and shaking so bad his teeth chattered. At every blinding flash of light and booming roar of thunder he whimpered softly and flinched, trying to bury himself deeper into his straw-stuffed mattress. On one particularly loud clap he jumped right out of bed and made to bolt into his parents, only to remember, half way across the hall that there was no room for him in their small bed. He curled up on the floor, face buried in his knees and let a few terrified sobs overtake him. When finally a lull came, and the only sound was the soothing song of rain on wooden roof and glass window he picked up his head, trying to decide what to do, where to go.

His eyes fell on Leto, curled up in his corner.

Leto was fast asleep, unbothered by the mighty storm raging overhead. His head was tucked under the blanket and only a small tuft of soft, brown hair was visible. A sudden boom of thunder caught Garrett with out warning and sent him scurrying to the lump of blankets that was actually an elf. With out warning or permission he pulled himself under the quilts and curled up against the other boy, grabbing a fist full of Leto's sleeping shirt in one tight little fist and holding them close. It wasn't as good as his mom or dad but it was good enough and, though he still flinched and jumped his mind was starting to relax, if only just a little.

Leto on the other hand was all stiff and prickles. He dare not move for fear of angering the mage, but his own body began to quiver with a tense, nervous fear. He squeezed his eyes closed, as if, if he didn't see the other, he wouldn't actually be there, or he wouldn't know he was actually awake. Garrett did notice, of course, but chose not to say anything. Instead he took one of Leto's fists in his own shaking hand and pressed it against his chest, letting the elf feel his bounding heartbeat and the shake and quiver of fear running through his own body. Leto cracked one eye, examining Garrett's face slowly, uncertainly. He saw no malice. He saw no greed or power. He saw no mage. He simply saw a very young, very small boy terrified of the weather, needing comfort.

He slowly uncurled his fingers, pressing his palm flat against Garrett's chest, his other hand tentatively covering the human's other fist, which was still tangled in his shirt. Hawke's hands were cold, but his were rather warm and he gently rubbed that hand buried in his clothing, warming it, soothing it ever so carefully. He closed his eyes and scooched a little closer to Garrett, who did the same until they were close enough to feel the warmth roll off each other's bodies and to feel comforted by the other's presence.

There were no more thoughts. No more contemplations about how even mages got scared, or how this was so strange, or what it could mean, or how he felt, or how this might change things. There was just existence. There was just two boys, to very different boys from very different worlds, both scared, haunted by their own demons, pressed together, begging for a storm to end.


	5. Chapter 5

Neither of the Hawke parents would ever know what it was that changed Leto's mind. All they knew is that when they awoke the night after the storm to check on their young guest their oldest son was sitting next to him. Both boys were pulled snugly under a shared quilt, rocking slowly in the wide rocking chair, watching day break over the forest and flowers. Garrett would whisper quietly and his tiny hand would smudge against the glass as he pointed to something unknown to every one else except the elf beside him. Leto would allow a small smile before murmuring back in a low, hushed voice. The twins were still deep asleep so Leandra and Malcolm stood quietly at the end of the hall, watching as the two boys pressed their little shoulders together and leaned in just so to share wondrous secrets and boyish thoughts.

Eventually Leto had let out a lion of a yawn and stretched so wide that the blanket rolled from their shoulders causing Garrett to shiver and stick his tongue out at his friend. "You butt, be careful!" He gave the elf a little elbow to his side, causing him to splutter through the end of his yawn and clutch at his ribs, trying to hold back a small laugh. It was alright because Garrett laughed loud enough for the both of them. He planted his feet on the wall and gave a big shove, sending the chair rocking wildly and jostling the two of them unsteadily back and forth with it. Leto was the first to tense up, giving a little twitch of his ears as he turned to look over his shoulder at the observing parents.

The poor boy flushed red from his neck to the tips of his long, pointed ears. Garrett, not having noticed pinched one of the ears and gave it a little tug to get his attention back. Leto just looked at him, eyes wide, conveying some silent message that neither Leandra or Malcolm could hope to comprehend but their son did. Garrett pursed his lips and looked back over his shoulder at them and sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. Leandra hid her face in her hands and Malcolm gave a low chuckle at his sass. "Come on boys, lets get some breakfast going before the twins wake up and start to terrorize the house." The pair hopped down from the chair and Leandra heard Garrett mutter to Leto.

"Bethy will terrorize the house. Carver will sit and skulk at her and roll his eyes as if she's just the most childish two-year old he's ever met." Leto let out a strangled half laugh and murmured back, "'Jeez Bethy,'" he mocked in a fake 'Carver' voice, "'Will you grow up already? We're not babies any more. We're two, you need to act like it." That got snickers from the both of them and Garrett pinched Leto's arm, "I blame you for that by the way. All your scowling and frowning only encouraged him. He's your brother now, I wash my hands of it!" The human continued giggling and followed his parents into the kitchen, not bothering to look back at the elf who had frozen in his tracks, a confused, furrowed look on his face.

Malcolm smiled at the boy and beaconed him over, "Come on, then! What are you in the mood for today?" Leto blinked a few times in rapid succession and then pondered the question, "Oatmeal and apples?" Garrett made a sourpuss face and stuck his tongue out at the suggestion but Malcolm just pinched his tongue and gave it a quick tug, causing him to suck it back into his mouth as quickly as it had popped out. "Oatmeal it is! That sounds delicious. Come, sit, stay a while." Leto hadn't realized he was still standing, halted in mid-step on his way to the kitchen. He hurried up and gave a little hop then wriggled and scrambled only semi-desperately into one of the kitchen chairs. Malcolm would have been more surprised at his choice of eating place if he hadn't just witnessed what felt like a miracle just a few minutes before.

Leandra made quick work with the oatmeal and before too long they were all eating, except for Garrett who was carefully picking out the apples in his own bowl and avoiding the rest of the lumpy, grey mush. But even his mother couldn't muster up a disapproving scowl for him that morning. Instead she just sighed and smiled a little, turning to focus her attention on her own bowl. By the time everyone had finished the group could hear the first stirrings of Bethany and Carver from their parents room. Leandra stood up heavily, a motherly weariness already settling on her narrow shoulders. Malcolm gave her hand a gentle squeeze and looked to Garrett, "Can you help your mother with the twins, Garrett?" The dark haired boy gave an exaggerated sigh and slid begrudgingly out of his chair to plop along after his mother.

When they had both disappeared around the corner and sounds of conversation and cooing (and teasing and goofing from Garrett) rang from the room Malcolm turned to Leto, who was sitting, staring avidly down the hall at the merriment.

"Leto?"

The boy's attention immediately snapped to the man sitting next to him, and though he said nothing the rapt attention and alertness was sparkling clear in his bright, green eyes.

"Are you doing alright?"

He started to shrug but changed it into a slow nod of agreement.

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you. I'm sorry we scared you."

Leto just stared, a very slight frown crossing his brow before quickly vanishing as he actually did shrug his shoulders.

"We, all of us, are so glad you're here. It's been a difficult year and a half, I know, but we are so happy you joined the family."

The silence was long and deep as Leto pondered the words, his eyes flicking constantly between Malcolm's warm, open face and the soft, wood floor. Finally the elf's eyes met the mage's and he said, his voice so quiet and soft that Malcolm almost didn't hear him.

"Hawke said my brother."

Malcolm let the smallest smile tug easily at the corners of his mouth, "Carver, you mean? Well he's more your brother than Garrett. He has your award winning furrow down."

The boy didn't laugh, just nodded once, "But he's not. My brother. He's not. I have a sister. Varania. And a mother. But they're back home, in Tevinter. They're still slaves for Danarius... He's a Magister." He paused again, considering the words before finishing, "I don't have a brother."

"Well now you've got two. And another sister, and another mother and a father. And you've got a home, right here. This can be your home now. And we can be your family, too, if you'll have us."

"I'm not from here."

"That's okay."

"I'm not a mage."

"That's the best way to be."

"I'm not Human."

"You don't need to be,"

"I'm not your son."

"Of course you are." The reply was immediate and emphatic. Malcolm reached out and took Leto's chin in his hand, gently tipping his face up, "I'm a lot of things, Leto. But to be your dad would be one of the greatest things I could ever be."

Leto bit his lip and frowned, then gave a slow nod, "I'm going to help Hawke and Lea-..." He paused, pursing his lips as he turned a few thoughts over in his mind a couple of times, "Do you think my mom would be angry if I called someone else mom?"

That question threw Malcolm for a loop and he had to take moment himself before he could answer, his hand moving to scratch his own chin as the thought, "What did she say to you before you left?" Leto just shook his head, "Nothing... I was in the courtyard alone, the guards were called into the castle for some reason, leaving me alone... I ran." His eyes dropped to the floor and he rocked a little in his chair, "I hated it so much. I missed Seheron. I wanted to go back, but I got lost. Minrathos all looks the same. When I finally escaped I just ran and ran and ran. I ran until I couldn't move my legs any more and I was lost and there was no where to steal bread or carrots from, no more fountains to snatch drinks out of... I just left them." He let out a small shaking sob as the reality of it all finally crashed in on him, as he finally faced what he had done.

Malcolm, seeing the walls finally beginning to cave reached out and gathered the small boy to his chest, holding him close as his world finally came crashing down around him. He didn't shush him, didn't try to sooth him, just held him. And Leto cried. It was painful and hard and with such a force that his whole body was wracked and shook and quivered. He didn't wail, as Carver did, didn't fuss and pout and make a show, like Bethany and he didn't stomp his feet and get angry, as was Garrett's habit. He just stood there, pressed to Malcolm's body and let fat tears stream down his cheeks into the man's shirt, let his body heave with the pain and loss of it all. His little fists gripped Malcolm's shirt in tight, tugging, pleading grips. He clung to the man like a drowning man a rope. But even here, like this, in his most vounerable and weak he was still so strong. His body didn't cave, his legs didn't give, he didn't sob out or scream. He just stood in perfect silence, body writhing as he let it all out, let loose for just a few, short moments.

When everything seemed to start to ease up Malcolm tentatively pressed a kiss to the top of his head and brushed the tear-soaked brown hair from his face, "They will always love you, Leto. And I'm sure no one blames you for what you did. Anyone would have done the same." The elf just nodded weakly, a hard scowl on his face as he wiped his tears away with fast, effecient swipes of his sleeves. As if he was angry for crying, as if he was angry for being a child, as if he was angry that he couldn't handle difficult, adult issues as a 7-year-old.

He took a step back and gave a decisive sniffle before the impossibly mature mask fell over his features once more, hiding his thoughts and feelings from view once more, "I'm going to help Hawke and," He paused again, deciding that it wasn't time just yet, "Leandra with Carver and Bethy." He turned and took several determined strides into the living room before he faltered, turning to look back at the scruffy mage kneeling in the kitchen, watching him with a sad half smile.

He charged back, launching himself against Malcolm with such force that the man almost fell back onto his ass, needing to prop his hands against the floor to steady himself. Leto had his arms tight around his neck, his face buried in the man's chest. Malcolm only got a small, one armed squeeze of his own in before the elf was jerking away and moving hurriedly towards the bedroom.

Malcolm was left with a small, wonder-filled smile on his face. He sucked in a deep breath and murmured to himself than to the retreating boy, "Welcome home, son."


	6. Part One: The Promise

_"If you wait for me,_  
 _Then I'll come for you,_  
 _Although I've travelled far,_  
 _I always hold a place for you in my heart."_  
 ** _-Tracy Chapman (The Promise)_**

The bright, mid-day summer sun was razing the earth, bleeding it dry of all moisture and hope. Lothering wasn't experiencing a draught per say but it had been long enough since the last rain for the farmers to start to grumble and get stingy with their wares. The summer had been brutal and, despite being early Kingsway the typical autumn clouds and breeze had yet to roll in. Instead the long summer dragged on, clinging desperately to the leash that tethered it to the earth and wrestling every last bit of hold it could before the fall rains began and the leaves at last withered. Though, the leaves seemed most ready to die by halfway through the summer given their lack of water and the overbearing brutality of the harsh sun.

Despite all of this that noonday found Garrett and Leto propped against one of the fences that boarded off the fighting pen in the center of town. Garrett stood on the lower rail with his arms folded over the top row of horizontal planks, holding himself high up to see all the action. Leto, who had little interest in watching the children learn their first basic sword and shield formations stood on the ground, his shoulders braced against a post, picking the needles off of a twig of pine. Both of the boys had a light sheen of sweat rolling down their foreheads and necks and Garrett, who never could figure out how to tan his skin, not just burn it to a crisp like the First Day pork, was starting to wince in the painfully blinding sun. Leto's skin was dark naturally and the sun only helped that along, much to the envy Garrett who hated feeling like a child as he asked for help applying a salve that would sooth his skin and keep it from burning.

"We could be back at home by now eating a delicious lunch, you know." Leto muttered, tossing the barren stick to the ground and kicking it absently away.

"Or we could be watching and enjoying the spectacle of the little children learning their very first sword maneuvers." Garrett countered, looking pointedly down at the elf who was making it clear he was in no way going to watch what was going on in the ring.

"Or we could, ya know, practice. Maybe if you did that more often you would be better than a child. People might stop asking questions about why you're so damn incompetent and if you're not practicing sword play what exactly are you practicing."

Garrett scoffed, "Maybe you just need to start sucking a little more and then people will stop thinking I'm so terrible."

The elf let out a low, short laugh, "I won't stunt my own skill to make you feel better." He retorted, kicking a leg out towards Hawke to buckle on of his knees. He succeeded and the human let out a short yelp as he tumbled down onto the ground in a great plume of dust and dirt. Garrett picked himself up and brushed his clothes of to the best of his ability before remounting the wooden fence.

"Go practice with Carver, then. The great oaf could use some help."

Leto eyed the human and Hawke could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke, "You're a head and shoulders taller than him and half a width wider than him and he's the oaf?"

"Have you seen me spin a staff? It's all whoosh, woo, woo, wush whooh whoosh-" He pitched his body further forward so that he could free up his hands to make the motions of twirling the staff while mimicking the noises, "I'm like a Maker-taken angel. Carver just stomps around and slams his sword into things like a great Druffalo or something."

As Hawke spoke, Leto cast his eyes about, making sure no one was quite within earshot of their conversation. Bad was not a suffecient word to explain the consequences if someone overheard them talking about staffs. Lothering was a paranoid little place and all too happy to send mages to their "rightful" place in the Circle just off Lake Calenhad. Leto still knew little about circles, but had heard enough from Malcolm that he understood there was little there for a mage to be jubilant about.

"Yes well at least he can hit things. And he's been improving every day." He snipped back, raising one eyebrow.

"Yeah yeah whatever." Hawke waved an absent hand over his shoulder at Leto and heaved a long, deep sigh, "It's appearances, right? I got to these classes with you, we train in public every couple of days and no one asks questions. They just assume I'm a little slow."

"You are a little slow."

Garrett just stuck his tongue out at the elf and was about to hop off then fence when an all too familiar voice drifted over to him from around the corner of the ring, "Hawke? Is that you?"

His whole body locked up and he closed his eyes, turned his face away and muttered, "nope, no no no nope nopity nope nope." Leto chuckled low and deep in his chest, more just a general rumbling than anything else. A rolling, smooth sound that sent a chill straight through Garrett's spine. Puberty had hit his friend hard, one rapid growth spurt after another and a voice that was suddenly a deep, growl that came off his tongue in with a thin accent that smoothed it out. Bethany had swooned at it for a while but after the majesty of it wore off she just poked fun at him every chance she got. She especially loved to get him worked up because then his voice would crack and a few words would squeak out in that high, airy child's voice and she would roll on the floor with laughter. Then Carver would stand over her and scold her for her behavior, which only made her laugh harder and often got Garrett joined in on the merriment.

Finally Carver would get so upset himself that he'd storm out of the house, spouting some nonsense about respect. Ever since he was old enough to walk and swing a stick Carver toddled after Leto as often as his mother would let him. Garrett wasn't sure if it was the mutual disdain for most people and things, or that their father spent most of his time with himself and Bethany, but something about Leto always attracted Carver. Since he was able to talk he would repeat things he'd heard the elf say, including the occasional Tevene curse, which always earned him a swat upside the head from Leandra. Or he'd just follow and gawk at their adopted brother, absorbing everything he was doing and, when he had time, practicing all of the scornful looks and careful swordplay he'd seen. But despite his love and admiration it was Garrett who Leto had stayed close with. That was probably what made Carver fume most of all.

Garrett did his best to be a good older brother, as did Leto, but six years was a big gap and Carver could be a bit of twit when he was trying to be grown up and mature like them, instead of just acting his age. Between that and a lack of attention from Malcolm Garrett really didn't blame him when he got angry or frustrated. It certainly didn't help, he was sure, that the town had taken a liking to Leto's nickname for him. That was one thing that always made him cringe whenever his little brother was around. Hawke was the family name, not his name and he deserved to be called it no more than anyone else in the family. He wasn't the only Hawke, hell he wasn't even the oldest or the best Hawke, those went to Malcolm and Bethany respectively.

"Oh it is you!"

The high, girlish coo broke Garrett from his reverie. "Yes, of course it's me, who the piss else would it be?" He muttered next to Leto's ear so that only the elf could hear. For his part, he did not react, just picked at his nails and feigned disinterest in the proceedings. Getting nothing Hawke just rolled his eyes and plastered a smile on his face, turning to the girl, "Why hellooo!" He chimed, all too excited, and so sweet it could have given Leto a cavity. The elf elbowed the human hard in the ribs slyly. Hawke gave an 'oof' of air as the blow winded him.

"I just saw you standing over here- I was walking through the market- and I thought I'd just pop by and say hello!"

Once more, Garrett turned his head to give some snide remark to the elf but Leto just pressed a palm flat against his face and pushed it back in the direction of the adoring female on his other side. "Yes and you've done that... So.. Thank you..." He smiled and nodded, "I guess I'll see you at school in a week." With a decisive nod he turned back to the arena, which was emptying out to allow the next age group up to enter.

The girl- Hawke recalled her name was Alyssa- let out a little sigh before muttering a departing word and starting to wander away.

"That wasn't very nice."

Hawke shrugged at his friend, feeling a little guilty but having nothing to say about it.

"You should take her out or something." Leto commented.

"Why?"

"Because you haven't ever gone out with a girl and your mother is starting to ask me about it. As if I would know anything."

"Well tell her I'm planning on joining the chantry to help pray the magic away and Brothers can't have wives."

Leto just let the comment hang in a purposeful silence before Hawke started to squirm and finally called out, "Alyssa? Hey, come on back!"

The girl cast a glance over her shoulder and strode carefully back to where the pair of boys was standing. "I'm sorry I was so rude. I guess I'm just no good at things." A light blush dusted his cheeks and the girl hid a smile behind her hand. Leto rolled his eyes at the whole display and elbowed Hawke again, causing his next words to come out slightly strained, "I need to go to the berry patch in the woods tomorrow, I promised mum I'd pick some for a pie she's making, she makes really good pies, seriously-" Leto could see where this tangent was going and elbowed him a third time, getting him back on track, "Right and you should come. I could use the help and the company."

Her face split into a wide, unabashed smile and she nodded, "That sounds wonderful, Hawke! Just stop by my house when you're ready to go, I'll be ready." And with that she half skipped half scampered back to her small gaggle of friends waiting just out of sight. Hawke and Leto could hear them giggling and teasing and plotting. "Happy?" He asked, voice dripping with resentment.

"Slightly less prickly would be the more apt description." Leto retorted.

The both laughed as they gathered their weapons and entered the area when their age and skill level were called.

* * *

Everyone had a different reaction to the news.

Garrett's mother fussed and fawned over him to the point when he thought he'd just go pick berries that very instant, at 9 O'Clock at night just to escape her. Bethany giggled and teased him with silly childish chants until Garrett made obscene kissing noises and chased her around the house with grabbing arms, trying to catch her and plant a slobbery smack of his lips right to her cheek which made her squeal. Carver looked a little excited, though that was only a guess since the emotion only showed in a quick glimmer in his eyes. But he did ask questions about who the girl was (and if she had any friends his age). No, Garrett assured him, no ten-year-old girl wants to hang out with boys her age. This earned him a scowl from his mother and some sassy wisecrack from Carver, both of which he ignored in favor of the thoroughly engaging dinner before him. Malcolm just sat quietly and smiled as he read in the living room, a quiet and pleased observer of the excitement and slight mayhem. Leto stayed silent, too, unsure what the snarled, tangle of emotions deep in his gut was or what it meant.

The next morning Garrett woke, dressed, grabbed some bread and jam and slipped out of the house before the rest of the family had time to wake up. He didn't want to deal with them that morning, he just wanted to get going. Though, deep down, he supposed he appreciated their enthusiasm. It had sparked something in his own heart, a little flutter, a little spring in his step that wasn't there the day before and that had easily shoved out the growing dread and resentment.

And with that attitude. Garrett found that the date actually went rather well. They made easy conversation and Garrett found that Alyssa had a light sense of humor and was quick to laughter, which only inspired him to joke around more. They collected a full basket of fruit each, an array of blue, red, black and strawberries, though by the time evening came and they were forced to return home each of them had eaten a fair portion of what they had gathered. They paused just at the edge of the woods and sat on a fallen tree nearby to watch the sun set in an explosion of color and dazzling, pink clouds. They made small talk as they observed, swapped a few jokes and then fell into a comfortable silence.

As the last rays of light streamed into the sky from beyond the horizon Garrett plucked a Raspberry from his basket and reached out, securing the hollowed end over the end of Alyssa's pointed nose. She giggled and stuck her tongue out, trying to collect the fruit without the use of her hands. Garrett roared with laughter at the sight and it took him several minutes and a truly puppy-worthy pout for him to finally pull himself back together and nod consention, "Oh please, m'lady, allow me!" He leaned in and delicately took the fruit between his teeth and pulled it off, chewing it once before gulping it down. "Well that's no fair!" She cried, lightly slapping his shoulder, "I get all the torture and look like a fool and I don't even get to eat the fruit?" His face was still very close to hers and with the breeze he could smell the sweet pine in her hair and the light scent of fresh berries on her breath.

He wasn't sure what she saw on his face but the moment grew silent and still very quickly and their eyes locked and held for a very long time. Slowly, slowly, Hawke leaned in, eyes half-lidded, lips a breath away from hers. Then, before he had time to make some smart-ass quip to break the tension, or time to pull away she closed the gap, sealing their lips together in a gentle, steady kiss. Their lips stayed pressed together, unmoving for a few long seconds before they both jerked back, suddenly sensing that things were about to be awkward. Alyssa was blushing from her head to her toes and Hawke was shifting awkwardly, running a nervous, shaking hand through his hair. "Ahem... Well- uh..." He coughed, cleared his throat again and smiled sheepishly at her, "I should uh... I should walk you home." Alyssa just nodded and kept her eyes down, though the smile wouldn't leave her face, no matter how embarrassed she appeared.

* * *

It seemed that every one in the whole damn house had waited up for him. He knew he was in for a mess of trouble when he saw Bethany's face pressed against the window as he approached the house. By the time he'd gotten inside the whole family was up and asking questions all at once. Garrett pressed the basket into his mother's arms, "Berries." He said simply, attempting to brush past the crowd. But every one was all questions all at once.

"Holy Maker's Bride, yes! Everything was fine! We picked berries, she's vey nice, we talked, she's funny, we got along well." He threw up his hands and stomped around the group, disappearing into the room he now shared with Leto (there was a third bedroom that the twins shared) to get changed out of his dirty, fruit stained clothes and put on something clean and comfortable for dinner and bed. When he stepped out of his room everyone had mostly returned to what they were doing. Everyone except for Bethany, who was trailing him like a shadow, making kissy sounds, "Did you kiiiiiss her?" She asked, all sing-songy, "Mwah mwah mwah, smooch smooch smooch. You kissed her," there she made more kissy faces and sounds. Garrett grumbled and sat down hard in a chair in the kitchen, munching on some of the beef stew their mother had made that night.

"Hawke and Alyssa sitting in a tree-" Garret almost spluttered out the soup, it was unfair that this song happened to be so accurate.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G" She made it loud and obnoxious so that Garrett cringed and winced at the sound of it so loud and close to his ear.

"First comes love, then comes marriage-" It was now her third time through the rhyme and he just couldn't handle it any more.

"YES! ALRIGHT?! Andraste's tits what does one have to do to get some Maker damned privacy around here?!" With that he shoved his chair back and stormed into his room, leaving the rest of the house in total, stunned silence for a few moments. That was until Bethany recovered and started half shrieking with excitement and hopping around the living room. Leandra tried to hide her joy but was failing drastically, much to the amusement of Malcolm. Carver had a twisted attempt at disgust on his face, but he really just looked kind of sick.

Leto still sat quietly in the corner, watching the rest of the family fuss over the new developments in Garrett's life. And still that snarled string stayed in his stomach, though it seemed to raise up into his throat a bit. It wasn't jealousy... Not exactly, he thought. And it wasn't sorrow. Not exactly. It wasn't anger. It wasn't resentment. It was some strange combination of them all that left him confused and in need of some form of answers about their friendship and how that might change. Slowly he got up and made his way to their room, using the commotion in the living room as a distraction to slip slyly inside undetected.

Garrett was laying with his face buried in his pillow, arms by his sides, flat on his stomach.

"Pro tip, pillows are not actually good suffocation tools." He comment, retort muffled by the mass of cotton and feathers that was currently stuffed against his face. Leto tried to bite back a smile but only half succeeded. He took a seat on his own bed, just a few feet from Hawke and watched the fifteen year old lay motionless on the bed. Finally the silence grew too long and the human rolled onto his side, watching his friend. "Something on your mind?"

Leto gave a little nod and then paused, a thousand questions burning into his brain. But now wasn't the time to be selfish or needy so he smirked just a bit and asked, "So, how was it?"

The reaction was entirely unexpected. Hawke flopped onto his back and heaved a great, weighty sigh, "I... I really don't know." He lolled his head to the side to meet Leto's bright, green, inquisitive eyes. "I mean... It felt good? I guess? But it felt good in a way that being close with someone who you like feels good. And I do like her... She's great. She's funny, kind, we get along well, she's pretty, clearly..."

Leto snorted, and mocked, "Clearly."

Hawke grabbed his pillow, and whacked Leto upside the head with it, causing the elf to tumble back onto his bed and chuckle a little, waiting for the assault to be over before he sat back up. The mood sobered again quickly as he pressed, "But...?"

"But... Nothing. That's it. It was nice and pleasant but she's just a good friend. It wasn't bad but it just wasn't right."

Leto nodded slowly, only half understanding, which was half more than what Hawke understood. He lay back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, a perfect imitation of the human on the bed beside him. "You going to go out with her again?"

Hawke just shook his head. Leto didn't need to look, he heard the swishing of hair on cloth and understood. As the noise died down outside and the house fell into a slow, steady slumber the two boys remained awake, silent, enraptured by their own thoughts. At one point Hawke reached out a hand, letting it flop into the gap between the beds. Leto followed suit a few moments later, grasping the hand offered in one of his own and just let that bond hang there, between them. A physical assurance that, no matter what they would still be friends, would still be together, Hawke would always be his, and he Hawke's in some small way. He felt comforted by it and allowed the warmth of that smooth, firm hand drift through his veins, relaxing and soothing him, lulling him in to an easy, light sleep.

Garrett stayed awake a long time after, turning over his emotions in his mind, confused and anxious. Alyssa was great. Everything he could ever imagine wanting in a girl. But something just wasn't... Just wasn't. Was it the timidness, she shy, quiet demeanor? No, he'd picture kissing her with confidence, with eager and excited anticipation and he just found himself scowling in confusion even more. He thought of other girls his age, of how their kisses might feel, how their lips might taste. But still nothing, no stir of desire or intrigue.

He was getting too tired by this point and this thoughts were beginning to scatter as sleep befell him. His eyes closed and the world fell away around him, and he felt the heat from Leto's blistered and calloused hand roll up his arm and through his chest, allowing it to lull him towards the Fade. It's slowly creeping murky landscapes and distant figures wavering into view as the real world rolled out.


	7. Chapter 7

As the morning light peeked through the window and gently grazed Garrett's face, the male awoke, wincing and squinting and attempting to rub the dazed sleep from his eyes. He was still atop the covers but in the night he had rolled to his side and tucked his hands against his chest, curling into a tight ball to stave off the cold he was too tired to combat with a blanket. Hawke blinked away the last of the sleep and shrugged his body into action, trudging out to the kitchen, to see what his mother had in store for breakfast, letting the elf get his rest. There was no need to wake him for at least another hour or so.

Leto awoke a few minutes later, facing the wall, with one arm draped awkwardly across the bed behind him. He winced and hissed as he pulled it back into place, his shoulder sore and aching from the twisted position. He stood, a little wobbly with sleep, and rotated his arm in it's socket, trying to stretch out the protesting muscles and ligaments, to ease it back into place. The actions cause a thin hiss of pain to escape and he sighed in defeat, letting arm hang limp by his side. Maybe it just needed to get used to being a part of his body again, not strewn willy nilly in crazy doll-like positions. The elf followed in Hawke's footsteps, dropping heavily into a chair around he table and offering the rest of the family a smile.

"Well look who's joined us." Teased Leandra, giving him a wink. Leto was often the first awake and already helping cook breakfast before the rest of the family even realized it was a decent hour once again. He blushed and cast his eyes down at his plate of eggs and ham. The family was not religious, and for that Leto was grateful. No awkward shifting during prayers, no pretending to know, care, understand or even believe, and, most importantly, no waiting for food. That really was the best part, and his stomach gave a loud, rumbling gurgle of agreement.

"Hm, what was that?" Garrett looked over to him with a sassy smirk on his face. When the elf did not dignify his question with an answer the other boy pretended to undergo a sudden realization, "Oh, your stomach. You didn't say anything that was just a little tummy grumble." The look Leto gave him would have frozen other people in their tracks but Hawke knew him too well and loved food to much to let anything stop him from eating. A dragon could probably blow his house over and he'd just ask the thing to apologize and wait just two god damn seconds.

"Even his stomach is disdainful of the world." Bethany murmured to Carver, who just rolled his eyes and forked some meat into his mouth. Garrett chuckled instead, and kicked his little brother under the table in retaliation for his attitude. It was returned with a glare before the table fell still and silent again, only the sounds of eating and clinking cutlery ringing through the cramped, little house. Leandra was the one to break it this time, "So, Garrett, are you going out with Alyssa again soon?"

That got the entire table's attention for sure. Garrett's cheeks flushed a bit and he pushed his runny eggs around his plate a bit with a noncommittal shrug, "I guess... She's nice... We get along well so why not?" Leandra frowned at the cadence of his answer but wrangled up a smile and nodded, "Good, her family is good family. She's a good girl. Safe." Garrett didn't need an explanation for what she meant by 'safe'. She meant they wouldn't report him to the Chantry. She meant that his magic would scare them like it did most. It meant the didn't think he was some kind of terrifying animal that needed to be caged up. He thinned his lips and nodded, "Yeah... She seems it." After another prolonged silence Malcolm cleared this throat and stood, "Bethy, Garrett, you guys ready?"

Bethany's lit up in excitement and she dashed to her room to get changed out of her sleeping clothes. Garrett was slower, he nodded and stood, scratching the back of his neck, "Yeah. Just gimme a minute?" Malcolm nodded with a gentle crease in his brow, "We'll be out back." HIs son nodded and shuffled past him to his room. Carver was slouched in his chair, scraping his fork against his plate, a right scowl staining his face. Leto, who had been silent for some time slowly stood, "Thank you for breakfast. Carver, get dressed and we can go into town, practice and join in the lessons?" The boy blinked and looked up Leto, who had at least attempted a warm smile over his usual scowl. He nodded brightly and half leapt out of his seat, barreling towards the door to get changed into his cloth armor. Leto huffed out a little laugh, shaking his head.

"It's a nice thing you do, Leto." Leandra murmured from the basin in which she was cleaning their dishes.

He just shrugged, "He's going to be a great swordsman some day." Leandra still looked at him with a fond smile, "It hurts him that Malcolm is with the other two so often. And Malcolm's no good at expressing himself." She sighed, looking forlornly into the soapy water. "He was really hoping none of the kids would have magic. Then not one but two of them?" She shook her head, "He blames himself. Feels he needs to shelter them, make them tough, teach them. I think it's easy for him to forget that Carver is there sometimes, he's so quiet." Leandra looked back at the elf a motherly smile toying at the corners of her lips, "You're so kind to him. Thank you."

Embarrassed, Leto just shrugged, looked down, and shuffled off to his shared room.

He dipped inside and closed the door behind him. Hawke was sitting on his bed, scratching his scalp, his shirt discarded on the floor. "Don't think too hard, you might hurt yourself." Leto quipped, moving to the dresser to pull out a pair of black leggings and a fitted black shirt. Hawke didn't even bother with a comeback, just nodded, eyes wide and unfocused on the floor. Leto sighed as he sat next to the teen, nudging him with his elbow in place of asking the obvious question.

"I guess I just never thought about that." Garrett murmured, half in thought, "That I'd have to tell them I'm an apostate." He grimaced and looked over at Leto, "Maker... I'm an Apostate." His eyes turned back to the floor, "How do you even comprehend that? A criminal." Leto pressed a cool hand against Hawke's bare shoulder, which Hawke leaned into just... just the smallest inch, allowing it to comfort him.

"So you are going out again?"

"Yeah. I'm just being weird. Over thinking it, I think."

Leto scoffed and stood, "I wasn't aware you were capable of such an action."

Garrett opted to not respond and instead just stood, digging around for a loose, cotton shirt and breeches. Leto turned away, allowing his brother a small measure of privacy as he changed. With a quick yank his own shirt was off, and with a shimmy of his hips his pants pooled on the floor, lessons would be starting soon in town and he and Carver would need to leave soon if they wanted to get there in time to participate.

Hawke tugged his boots on then turned to say something to Leto but paused. The elf had just fastened a black belt around his leggings and was working on sorting his shirt out to put it on. He had a nasty looking bruise across the middle of his back. "Maker's breath, Leto." He gasped, closing the distance and pressing a pair of fingers into the black and purple mass. Leto hissed and arched his back away, twisted sideways to avoid further contact, "Andraste's knickers, Hawke! What the hell did you do that for!?" The pain rippled through his body for a few, seemingly endless moments. Hawke reached up to touch it again and Leto slapped his hand away sharply with a stern look. Hawke reached up a second time, only to be slapped away again. Then he tried with his other hand, as if, somehow, that would be different. When, finally, he realized he wasn't going to be able to poke at the nasty mark again he pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, "Seriously, man, what happened?"

Leto just shrugged, body seeming to relax once the casual attempted assault was finished. He tugged his fresh shirt over his head and mumbled through the mess of fabric, "I wasn't careful and I turned my back to one of my opponents. Lesson learned." He stated simply as he slung his cheap, lead sword over his shoulders, sliding it through the loop across his back and settling it in the sheath on his hip. He liked the heft and weight of the metal, if he could learn on that then when he switched to steel or other, finer, lighter materials he would be even faster, even stronger, even better.

There was another long pause, during which Leto was sure he was contemplating if he could get one more good poke at the bruise even through Leto's shirt, before Garrett finally concluded, "Well I think you should invest in some armor. Something sharp and prickly, like you." And before Leto had time to swat at him he double-timed it out of the room and out into the back yard where his father and sister were already hard at work.

* * *

The walk to the center of town was slow and ambling. Carver was carefully explaining all the new moves and attacks he'd learned, going through the motions with his wooden sword, the practice sword every one younger than 12 was given. Leto smiled a little and corrected hand positions and angles as they walked, when it was needed. Then Carver would run the attack again a few more times to commit the change to memory.

When he had run out of new things to show off he finally blurted out what had really been on his mind since last night, "Why don't you get a girlfriend?" The sudden jump in conversation almost knocked Leto on his ass and he let out a surprised half laugh, "Uh... well..."

"There are some really nice elf girls."

"Slaves. Servants or beggars." His tone was a low growl, but not mean or dangerous.

"Yeah but if you dated the, and if you married them then you could free them!"

Leto sighed softly, "It doesn't work like that, Carver." He murmured, "The world isn't so kind, you'll realize."

Carver glared at the dirt, "Yeah, how do you know?"

"I had a friend in Tevinter." He replied, after a pause, words careful, concise. "When I ran away she was 16, ten years older than I was. Our master was arranging a marriage for her. It was just one more way for them to control us, to keep us and our lives in check. Anyway, she didn't get a choice and, when she married her husband just moved to our palace with us. Business." Leto shrugged, "You'll find that with people who have power over others, there is a certain hubris, a certain greed that permeates their every second of existence. No girl I married would be free, I would just be forced into slavery with her."

Carver's expression didn't ease up, "I'm going to free all the slaves when I grow up." He murmured darkly, pale blue eyes meeting Leto's, "I'm going to start in Tevinter, I'll burn it all down and set all the slaves free. Every single one. Then I'll come back here and break open all the Alienages." He picked his head up, walking tall, "And the circles! I'll take all the mages and I'll put them somewhere they can actually learn! They'll never have to worry about being made tranquil again or being abused or beaten. Not ever. I'll start a whole new order of Templars!" He paused, "Then maybe dad won't be so scared. Then he wouldn't have to worry. Then Bethy and Garrett would be safe. I'd keep them safe. I'm going to keep them safe, I'm going to protect them always, Leto."

Leto wore a sad smile when Carver next looked up to him, his eyes flashing with defiance and determination.

"I bet you will, Carver. If any one could it would be you." His words were so sincere it made the human blush and look away. Leto ruffled his brother's hair and rested the hand on his shoulder, finishing their walk into the town center in contemplative silence.

* * *

On the way back from training, early in the evening the pair bumped into Garrett. Leto and Carver were both covered in dust, sweat and a little bit of blood from a busted lip or occasional scratch. Carver was the first to speak, "Where are you going?" He asked, his voice annoyed and nosey on the surface, but now that Leto knew what to listen for, he could detect a flowing undercurrent of concern and worry. Garrett did not notice and so he shrugged defeatedly, not wanting a fight, "I'm going to see Alyssa. There's a fire on the lake show going on. Some mages from the Circle are stopping by on their way to..." He paused, "Well on their way to wherever they're going and they're paying for their stay by putting on a show. Alyssa stopped by to say that her and her older brother are going. She asked if I'd join."

Carver seemed to consider the arrangement before nodding, "Well... Whatever." He finished, brushing past his own older brother and continuing the trip to their home. Leto offered a half-smile, "Have fun." He murmured, Garrett nodded with a real smile of his own. "I think I will. I'll tell you all about it when I get back." Leto nodded and they stood in silence for a minute, just watching each other, as if unsure how to traverse this new territory. Unsure how to handle this changing world in which they weren't constantly together, in which their friendship was beginning to shift. It scared Leto and after a minute he cleared his throat, not wanting to linger on the thought any longer, "Well yeah. Get going." He tried a smile again and failed, causing Hawke to give him a confused expression before patting his shoulder and moving on down the path through town.

"Andraste's tits." Leto hissed as he pressed forward towards Carver, who had been watching the whole exchange from a distance away. There was something in his gaze, a kind of understanding that Leto didn't like the look of. As they fell into step again Carver pursed his lips, "He's going to be okay."

"I know."

He nodded slowly, his mind churning through the interaction, "You're not going to get replaced. You're his best friend, you're his brother."

"So are you, and you're not worried."

"'Cause he's got my blood. He couldn't escape me, no matter how much he wants to. But you're adopted. You don't have that assurance."

"I'm not worried."

"Says you."

Leto smirked, "You're too grown up. Act ten once in a while, would you?"

"That's what mom always says." He muttered, but a little blush had crept onto his cheeks and his face was dropped towards the ground in embarrassment.

Once more they ended their walk in mutual, comfortable silence, pondering the evenings events.

* * *

The show was just as amazing as it sounded like it would be. The trio sat on a couple of blankets, with a blanket also pull over their lap. They leaned back against a long, low rock at the back of the audience. It was close enough that they could see the flares of fire, water and lightening in all their beauty, but far enough away that their conversations, giggling and general inattention didn't bother anyone else. Alyssa was leaning against Garrett, her head on his chest, one hand pressed against his abdomen, the other arm linked through his. One of his hands lay limply in his lap, the other rested on her knee. Every so often through out the show he felt her shift and his hand would slide up just a little higher. A couple times he felt his breath catch in his throat, or he'd half choke on some spit he was in the process of swallowing. However it seemed like for no other reason than the surprise of the bold little moves that were so differed from what he expected from her. His body remained calm, placid even, uncaring of the risque journeys of one of it's appendages.

After about a half hour of show the mages took a break to rest for a while and take some Lyrium, the musicians who were accompanying them went to the tavern near by for water and the crowd got up to stretch and walk off their restlessness. Alyssa smiled at him and slowly drew away, "I'll be right back." He murmured, hurrying off to the tavern's outhouse, leaving Garrett and her brother, Aiden alone. Aiden wasn't much older, just 17, and they bumped into each other frequently enough in the small Lothering schoolhouse. They certainly weren't strangers, but they also weren't close enough to hold an easy conversation. After a few seconds of silence, that seemed to drag on into an hour, Aiden looked at him, "So, Alyssa seems to like you well enough." Hawke's face flashed red instantly and he wanted to burry himself under the covers and never come out.

"She's a good girl." He murmured, copying what his mother had said to him at one point.

Aiden winced, "Ouch, Maker, that is like the coldest thing I've ever heard anyone say about her."

"What? I mean it. She's really nice-"

"But you don't like her." Aiden had slouched, sliding sideways so he was braced on one elbow, hiding him completely from view behind the rock from the tavern behind them. Garrett just shrugged and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"I don't know. I guess I just don't really know her well enough yet."

"That's what I said." Aiden murmured low, quietly enough that Hawke had to lean down to his level to hear what he was saying.

"What do you mean?"

"There was a girl in my class, great girl, really sweet, gorgeous, I swore that if I just got to know her well enough I'd eventually fall for her."

Now Hawke was intrigued, "And?"

"And it didn't work. She wasn't my type."

Garrett noticed how nice Aiden's eyes were. They were a rich brown, deep, like wet soil, earthy and grounded. They sparkled with mirth and mystery and something darker, deeper that Hawke didn't recognize, but it enticed him, he wanted to keep talking, he wanted to get to know him. Something in his handsome, smooth face just held him. His next sentence was more of a breath than actual words, "What is your type, then?"

His heart was pounding for no reason he could discern and he felt a fluttering in his gut, a lump high in his throat suddenly making itself known. He could feel his hands twitching, his every nerve on high alert, suddenly aware of the scratchy wool blanket they sat on, the cool, moist grass against his bare feet, the hard, warm stone at his back... The way Aiden's warm breath washed over his neck and the side of his face.

His answer was so quiet Hawke almost missed it, and he had to lean in just a little bit more to catch it.

"You."

Then the little space was closed and their lips were pressing heatedly against each other. The night was dark enough that no one could see them, and the stone blocked view and light from the tavern behind them. Hawke felt his body reel. Yes, Maker yes. This was the spark he'd been looking for, that edge, that rolling pleasure he'd thought would come from a kiss. He whimpered soft and needy into the kiss. He felt Aiden smile against his lips and one of his rough hands raised to tangle in the mess that was Garrett's dark hair, pulling their lips together more fiercely. Then his tongue teased, dancing along Hawke's lower lip and he let a little moan escape. Aiden took the chance to delve deeper, swiping his tongue into Garrett's mouth. The mage responded eagerly, flicking his own tongue against Aiden's, toying with it, wrestling gently. Pleasure washed over his whole body, causing him to gyrate his hips slowly, seeking friction, touch, something, anything. Aiden could feel the shifting and almost laughed, one hand reaching down, his fingertips grazing just so against Hawke's quickly hardening length.

That got a real, throaty moan and Hawke was about to say fuck it all and straddle the other male when a familiar, high, girly voice drifted over the rock.

Hawke jumped back and did his best to straighten himself out, tuck his growing erection between his legs, wipe the spit away from his lips, try to calm his pulse and breathing. Aiden just laughed low, a laugh that sent chills through Hawke's body.

Alyssa hopped over the rock and plopped herself down next to Hawke once more, immediately diving into a story about some drunk she'd just bumped into. Hawke heard not a word of it. His eyes were bright and were locked onto Aiden's, like lightening to the ground. As the show started up again he drew his eyes away, but he could still feel the other male's gaze on him, could feel it like a hand on his body.

As soon as the show was over Garrett was making excuses and apologies, all of which just brought a smug smirk to Aiden's lips and a disappointed frown to Alyssa's. He turned and ran. Or something close to it. His mind was spinning. He wasn't sure if he was going to pass out, throw up or just straight up die. He couldn't get a single clear thought through the muddle and didn't even know where to start, even if he could. He just knew he needed to leave, he needed space, he needed to figure all of this out. What was going on? He walked in circles for a few minutes, flailing his arms and stomping, crying out into his hands, so confused it almost hurt. He need- he needed- he needed-

Maker help him, he needed Aiden.


	8. Chapter 8

Hawke arrived home late to find everyone asleep. Even Leto didn't wake up as he flopped down into his bed to find slumber himself. But sleep was evasive at best and Garrett spent most of the night flopping about and tossing the covers around the bed. He was sure Leto had woken up at some point, but the elf was facing the wall and maintained a steady, even breath. Finally, as the pre-sun light began to illuminate the earth Hawke gave up and (quietly) stomped from the house to sit on his old tree swing. From there he watched the sun crest over Lothering, painting the world in more hues than he had names for. He ignored the first stirrings and smells of breakfast wafting from the house. It was only once he heard Bethany's distinct gossiping that he stood, albeit with a heavy sigh.

When he joined his family at the table there were plenty of smug smiles and questioning looks from his siblings and parents respectively. Leto had chosen to half-ignore him. If Garrett hadn't felt bad about keeping the elf awake before, he certainly did now. He tried a few, tentative smiles Leto's way but, when the teen noticed, he just dropped his vibrant eyes back to the food before him.

Everyone kept their mouths closed, though. Even Bethany, which seemed like a Maker-given miracle, and after several failed attempts to catch Leto's attention, Hawke kept his head down, too. He made it through the better part of the morning with out incident, in fact. Ignoring the looks and dodging the questions wasn't as difficult as he thought it'd be. The family pushed now and again but a noncommittal shrug or general noise of agreement got the message across and dissuaded them from pressing further. Except for Leto. Once again, while the elf was a definite presence in the house he seemed to have nothing to contribute to the excitement and thrill that thrummed through the rest of the household. The lack of his company set Garrett on edge, made his soul itch in a strange way he was unfamiliar with.

Hawke decided to distract himself from the confusing muddle of half-thoughts and emotions by spending what time he wasn't being pestered, focused on a complex healing aura he'd been trying to master. Auras were the worst. He had to maintain a constant and consistent level of magic at all times, had to let it seep and radiate from him but not burn, flash or flare. He had to feel the power coursing through his very veins and hold it in, but still allow it just a measure of freedom into the space around him. He'd heard tales of mages as battle healers and great leaders, inspiring others with words and aura alike and it mystified him. The degree of control, the sheer measure of power required was awesome.

A quiet knock at his door interrupted his meditations. Garrett opened his eyes to find his mother standing in the space the door had once been. He grimaced and started in, "Look, mum, I've told you-" with a quick clearing of her throat silenced him and she gave a quick flick of her head to the side. He could see the explanation in her eyes. Immediately the green glow vanished, flickering off into the air around him, little sparkles spitting and finally dying. He stood quickly, straightening out his clothes as Alyssa stepped into the room, "Hawke!" she exclaimed happily with a wide smile. "I was just checking in on you. You seemed ill last night. Are you doing okay?" There was genuine concern in his voice and that made Garrett's heart throb heavily he just nodded solemnly, "Yeah." He managed a little choked reply.

Leandra arched a delicate eyebrow and a small smirk quirked her lips, her arms falling across her chest. Garrett just half-glared at her before turning his forced and quickly waning smile back to his... his no one he supposed. Not girlfriend, that was certain. Not friend, he couldn't call her that, they only kind of knew each other and she clearly wasn't looking for friendship. Acquaintance? Random girl he'd kissed that one time before making out with her brother? It was a long title but it seemed the best match.

"Well I'm going to pick some apples. Would you like to join me?"

Leandra's face shifted to one of interest in intrigue at the same time as Bethany poked her head around the corner. She made obnoxious kissing faces. He saw Carver's hand reach into the doorframe, grab a fistful of her robes and yank her away. He wasn't sure he'd every imagined associating the wave of relief that washed over him with his little brother, but there it was none-the-less. Then Leto came into view, murmuring an excuse me to the two women and moving to his bed to collect some books, his sword and a the leather armor he used in practice. Their eyes met and held for a moment and, while Garrett couldn't tell what was hidden deep in the green orbs watching him he could feel it. And it felt confused and lost and he wanted nothing to do with it at that moment.

Garrett decided that he would very much like to do just what Alyssa had suggested.

* * *

After a half hour of slow meandering up the forested hill the pair stopped to rest and drink some water from the flasks they had brought. Garrett finished an especially long pull with a satisfied Aah looking over at Alyssa with a silly, satisfied smile. She was leaning against a tree not far away, taking small sips from her own water skin. Garrett was drawn to her dark eyes, so like her brother's and the way they were watching him. They were almost tracking him, flicking across his body to follow his slightest movement before finally settling on his own. The gulp he gave was almost comical when he saw the desire deep in the depths of those chocolate orbs.

He took a long, slow breath, steading his nerves, calming his fraying mind, easing the tension from every line in his body. I can do this, he had to do this. He needed to prove to himself that last night was a fluke, was a mistake, was an accident. With minimal, deliberate motions Garrett rose from the rock on which he had been sitting. He held her gaze and the memory of Aiden's own stare drifted into his consciousness. No he thought stubbornly. No he was going to kiss her and it was going to be amazing and Aiden would be a distant speck on the horizon of his mind. Aiden who?

With easy, casual steps Garrett closed the distance between them, moving into her personal space, one hand braced on the tree over her head, the other hanging limply and awkwardly at his side. Unsure whether to reach out, and where to touch the appendage just kind of twitched up and down in the space between them as if he was seizing. He opted to forget all about it and let his body figure it out on it's own, in it's own time. Instead he leaned in just slightly and her lips met his and he moved against her, not quite bringing their bodies flush, but definitely getting some form of contact between them. His lips slanted carefully, uneasily against hers and when she brought a hand up to stroke through his hair the memory of Aiden's hand clutching his messy curls flared to life in his mind. Hawke let out a low groan at the thought but cursed himself, chasing it away. Alyssa. Alyssa. Soft, kind, sweet, beautiful Alyssa.

He reached a hand out, resting it hesitantly on her hip. It felt wrong and unnatural, like it didn't fit right, like he didn't know how to hold her. An image of Aiden's strong body against his own, his own hands digging deep into his hips, rocking their bodies together. No. no, no, no, NO! He almost shouted it aloud, instead just pressing his lips more fiercely against hers, earning him a gentle moan. The sound fell flat on his ears and he nearly growled in frustration. He took advantage of her parted lips to mimic the way Aiden had flicked his tongue into his mouth. Maker, the way Aiden had tasted, the feel of their tongues sliding together- STOP IT. He was near tears with frustration and that made him all the more insistent, all the more passionate.

Alyssa was making little sounds of pleasure as Hawke pinned her between his lean body and the tree, taking her mouth in a kiss that was far more desperate than it was passionate. But even this felt wrong and her soft body with it's supple curves felt strange against his own, he couldn't figure out how to fit them together. Once more the thought of Aiden's large, strong frame came into his mind and all the things he wanted to do with it, to it.

He was forced, finally, to retreat, staggering back a couple of steps and wiping the spit from the sloppy and distracted kiss from his mouth. Suddenly a whole stew of shame and embarrassment and sorrow flooded through his body. What was wrong with him? Why was he so damned incompetent, so weak so... fuck so whatever it was that he was feeling right now. He should try again. The thought flocked to his mind, what if I pretend? Just until I can get that feeling associated with her? She doesn't have to know. No harm no foul? Right? Alyssa could either sense that something was off or else it was written all over his face, Garrett assumed the latter. There was a reason he had chosen to pose as a warrior, not a rogue. Mostly it was to spend more time with Leto- Leto. The name sent a small shiver up his spin and it caused him to frown, shake his head, take another uncertain step backwards.

"Hawke?" His name shattered his thoughts, sucked him back to the world and drew his eyes to meet hers. She stepped forward, reaching out to him- maybe to comfort, maybe in concen, maybe to pull his lips back to hers either way he just shook his head and stepped away again, out of her reach.

"Hawke, what's wrong?" The concern was fading away into frustration and he could hear an accusation written clear in her voice, she knew he was hiding something. Again. He had made a conscious choice not to be a rogue.

"Alyssa... You're so kind."

The girl almost started laughing. She spluttered and then let out a crazed half-laugh and flopped back against the tree she had been leaning on before.

"It's not you. You're so great." Hawke tried again, begging that she would understand.

She held up her hand, having regained her composure, "Hawke I don't need an easy let down. I get it. But at least be goddamn honest about it. Have some dignity, at least let me have dignity, show a little respect for the both of us. What, is it my looks? My blatant advances? My simple country mind? Not all of our dads can be scholars." Garrett was losing control of the situation quickly. It felt like a land slide. First a couple of pebbles seeping from underfoot, then entire areas of earth sliding away and then the whole ground beneath his feet was churning and roiling against him. It was the least he could do not to stumble and fall, not to get caught up in the tumult of rock and dirt and get buried beneath it's crushing and rapid force.

She was still going and it was all he could do to hold up his hands and whisper for her to stop. She didn't. He begged her to just listen, to just wait for a minute. Alyssa didn't seem to care and finally Hawke couldn't remain calm anymore, the landslide was sucking him down and in a last desperate struggle to stay abreast of the assault he spat out,

"I like boys!"

The three words gave them both pause. Garrett hadn't intended on saying that. He wanted to say that he maybe liked Aiden. That he just hadn't felt anything throughout their kisses, that he was confused and wasn't sure what was going on. The sudden confession was a surprise to him as much as to her.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant to say." HIs face was red and his legs were wobbling badly enough that he was surprised he remained standing.

"Aiden kissed you, didn't he?" The question was sudden and unexpected, though lacked any hint of accusation her previous statements had.

Hawke's knee jerk reaction was a quick denial, shaking his head almost violently, "What? No, no, Alyssa that's not-"

The look she was giving him was enough to slowly cause the shake to circle into a nod, a motion which she mimicked sarcastically and seemed to guide him into. He sighed and gave a quiet, "Yeah..."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, "Because of course he did. What a slut."

"I'm so sorry, Alyssa."

She pursed her lips and shrugged, "Don't be, you're not the manipulative ass hole here. That would be my brother. I should have known something was up when he offered to escort me. He claimed he wanted to meet you." She snorted, "Meet you my ass." She paused and looked back at Garrett and smirked, "Or your ass more correctly, I suppose." She chuckled humorlessly and began to gather her things.

"You're not... You're not angry?" She just gave a noncommittal shrug, "You're gay, Hawke. Nothing to be angry about, I suppose. We would have found out eventually. At least it was before I got too," She looked at him with a sad sort of smile, "Too attached or anything." Garrett nodded and shuffled awkwardly, "I don't know if gay is right..." It was a big word, so heavy and still, so sharp and direct. He couldn't fathom the word just yet, couldn't fully understand or comprehend. It wasn't right, it wasn't accurate, it was just empty sounds. He wasn't gay, was he? Just one boy, one kiss that didn't mean gay.

She just shrugged yet again, "Well whatever it is, I'm not your type." She started to head up the trail again and it took the mage a moment to react, "Hey, Alyssa, do you want some company? It's a long walk." He wasn't sure what possessed him to extend the offer. He couldn't place the feeling rattling around deep in his chest, he didn't know what he wanted from her, or what he would do regardless of how she answered. But the words had tumbled out, plopped grotesquely onto the ground between them and were screaming for attention now.

She paused in her stride and seemed to ponder the offer a moment before looking back at him with a small smile, "Ya know what? I think that would be nice. I'd never turn down a new friend." Despite himself Garrett felt a wide smile blossom across his face and he jogged to catch up to her, falling easily into step and quiet conversation.

* * *

The pair made good friends. Garrett found himself spending more and more time with her, enjoying the real companion he'd found. For the most part his family was happy to see him start to really enjoy his life. They were also happy to see that he'd found someone, a good girl, someone kind and honest and caring. Leto had been a bit more quiet lately. A bit more distant. But Garrett hadn't really noticed, so excited about this new friend... and his new friend's brother.

After a few weeks their respective parents became so used to the two of them together that they were able to provide cover for each other. It was good for whenever Hawke wanted to see Aiden or Alyssa felt like sneaking out meet up with friends to slip into a crowded tavern. It was one night, probably two months later that the two actions happened to overlap. Alyssa and her group of giggly girl friends asked if Hawke and Aiden wouldn't mind going with them. It was an especially rowdy Friday night and there was a traveling band in town that had everyone in high spirits.

Hawke was getting ready to leave, digging through his dresser to find a clean, nice-looking shirt and pants that weren't burnt or torn or too small or just generally grungy. Leto was sitting on his own bed, watching his friend with a slight scowl creasing his brow. "You really like her don't you?" Hawke, not turning or look at him just murmured a, "Hhhmm?"

"Alyssa. You really like her, don't you?"

Garrett made an ambiguous noise, "Yeah, she's great." Leto just nodded and swung his feet too and fro for a few long, heavily silent moments. "You guys spend a lot of time together." He tried to make it sound casual. He tried to appear nonchalant but could hear himself how poor a job he'd done. Once again, Hawke didn't seem to notice much, just nodded emphatically and finished getting dressed. "Where- ah, where are you going tonight?" His voice was tighter than he'd wanted it to be but the tone, once more, went unacknowledged. "Some tavern. A traveling group of bards is in town and it's going to be a fun show.

It was the longest sentence Garrett had said to him in weeks and Leto clung to every word, every syllable pathetically. He gathered all the sounds up and hugged them to his chest and let them drift slowly through his mind, letting the sound and feel of Hawke's voice churn through and wash over him. "It's a new moon tonight. Be careful walking around, with all this rain even the stars aren't out to light the way." His voice was strained, the one-sided conversation painfully forced and frustrating. He felt as if he was talking to a statue, except this statue could actually reply, and was simply choosing not to. "Mhm, mhm, yup, can do." Hawke chimed, pulling a on a sweater and turning to face Leto for the first time since the exchange began.

"How do I look?" He beamed and pretended to flick his hair like their girls at their school. Leto, for once, did not feel the need to contain a smile, because no smile came to his lips. He simply nodded and watched Hawke wink and half jog out of the door.

His chest hurt. His whole body ached, really, but the tightness in his chest was new. He laid on his bed, curling his arms around his torso, holding himself as still as he could, as quiet as he could. It was a game he played back in Tevinter. Whenever he was scared or hiding he would curl up and just try to be as motionless and silent as possible. He wouldn't rock or sob, just still his nerves, slow his heart, pretend as if he was entering a deep sleep, being whisked away to the Fade itself. It was a sad little game but it was the only one he was allowed to play and so he'd made it a game.

It wasn't helping this time, it was just making everything worse. His breath came in short pants and he felt his stomach coil and reel in his gut. Maker, he was going to be sick, wasn't he? He was about to throw up when he heard the creak of the floorboard next to his bed. Then a steady hand on his shoulder. No voice, no explanation, just that force of calm and focus bleeding into him, a port of him to latch onto to hold steady through the storm wrecking havoc within his body. When he had finally calmed the hand slipped away and a low voice filled the space, "Just give him time. Remember you're his brother, too."

With that Carver turned and slipped quietly from the room, closing the door with a gentle click behind him.

Leto didn't feel like Hawke's brother. He didn't even feel like the boy's friend at that moment. In the past three weeks they'd hardly said four sentences to each other. the conversation they'd just had was the longest they'd had in all of that time. He was glad, he really was, that Hawke had found someone, someone who cared about him and who was good and kind. But a small seed was beginning to grow, one he couldn't ignore or stifle. Anger, resentment, embarrassment. Who was he to be worthy of friends. Who was he to be worthy of anything at all other than the lot he had been handed at birth? This is what he got for his hubris. All those thoughts of a decade ago came watching back. Not the fear anymore, but the resignation, the acceptance that this friendship, this hope of companionship was wrong and alone and a mistake.

His life thus far had all been a fluke, a big mistake. It had taken years for the spirits of his old life to find him but find him they had and now they stood about him and pushed every one he loved away. Now they watched down on him again and laughed, feeding off the crashing realization that he was never meant to have a life so good and happy. His world was never meant to be so bright.

* * *

Leto was awoken later that night as his bed dipped heavily and a body flopped into the covers next to him. Hot breath that made his nose wrinkle from the stench of alcohol poured over his face. Hawke let out a quiet giggle and pressed a finger to Leto's lips Sssshhhhh.

Leto's body was stiff and unyielding, frozen in place as the human shuffled about on the bed beside him, though thankfully did not dip under the blankets with him, or move into his personal space... well any more than he already had.

"You smell good." Hawke murmured, only barely suppressing another fit of laughter.

"Hawke-"

"You're bed's so soft!" Leto tried to shift off the bed but was trapped, Hawke blocked the only side of the bed not tucked neatly against the wall.

"Go to your own bed."

Hawke's eyes met his in the near perfect darkness of the room. All color was lost with the light but the intensity was still there.

"You're so handsome." Leto didn't try to reply this time beyond an annoyed and exasperated sigh, just let the severely impaired male beside him get all the intoxication out of his system.

Hawke reached out to touch him but Leto's hand was faster, and not chemically impaired. He caught the teen's wrist in a tight, almost crushing grip and held the offending hand away from his own person. "Personal space, Hawke. Maker take me you're so fucking drunk."

"And strong." Leto scoffed and half flung the human's hand back at him, rolling his eyes and clearly entirely done with this whole interaction.

"I don't care how hungover you are come morning, if you throw up on me, or my bed, I'm still going to kick your ass six ways to Sunday."

Hawke just giggled sloppily again, "You're so silly, Leto!" Leto scowled, he was not silly. And all of this nonsense was started to wear on his last nerve. All of this time ignoring him, tossing aside their friendship like it was nothing and now this. Whatever this was.

The human was starting to tired and his words were becoming less words and more just general sounds that certainly made sense in his own mind. But the male did manage to stumble out a few more sentences before sleep finally overtook him, "Aiden and I had fun tonight." He giggled again, cut off by a sharp hiccup, "Maybe we should have fun some time." His face warped and scrunched and seemed to spasm a little big, causing a kind of uncertain fear to well up in Leto before the elf realized his brother had just attempted a wink. But his thoughts were cut off when the name Hawke had given finally smacked him upside the head.

"Aiden?"

Hawke nodded blearily and curled his body into a tight ball, "He's not as handsome as you, though. But he lets me play with him." Another insane, drunken giggle, Leto wasn't even sure what Hawke's words meant any more, the boy was making no sense, just no sense at all. "But I wanna play with you." He had barely gotten the words out before a long, rumbling snore erupted from his mouth. Leto flinched and scooted back, pressing against the wall, leaving as much space between them as possible. What in the hell was Hawke talking about? Had he even said words? Leto just shook his head and heaved a heavy sigh, he would ask about his friend's little tirade in the morning, but for now they both needed sleep. One more so than the other, to be sure.

He was ready to fall asleep right then, leave Hawke out of the covers to freeze in the night for his poor life choices, but the wave of guild that washed over him was too great and with a resigned sigh he pulled the spare blanket from the foot of his bed and tossed it haphazardly over the boy next to him. It had been an interesting night and Leto was sure the morning would be even more so.


	9. Chapter 9

_**(AUTHOR'S NOTE:: I have edited the previous chapters. I am no longer starting the Hawke/Fenris UST/romance/angst/whatever now. There are lots of reasons for this the most of which being it doesn't feel right to me, and later on it'll make it feel like Fenris is being force into the relationship. I think it would be a much better story if they both discovered it on their own as they got to get to know each other all over again. IF you'd like just take my word for it that I've edited it to reflect that they are not yet attracted to each other. If you'd like feel free to re-read chapters 6-8 and see for yourself the minute differences. Thank you for bearing with me and I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. I appreciate everyone of you who've been reading this and sticking with it, it means so much to know people like it.**_

 _ **As an aside- if you want to read the story with formatting (italics for emphasis) and with complete author's notes (not very good ones I assure you) then feel free to bop over to AO3, which is my primary story website of choice. Thank you all again, you are all so wonderful and amazing and keep me inspired.)**_

Hawke was dead. If he wasn't dead then he was currently in the very horrific business of dying. His skull was surely crushed and blood and brains seeping from the shattered cracks on to the ground below and he was dying.

 _I love you mother. Don't cry for me. Father, please keep the family safe. Bethy, you're so talented, so strong, never give up on any of your dreams. Carver... Carver I'm so sorry you've been such a twit. I wish it didn't have to end like this._

And thus he steeled himself for the inevitable darkness to consume him. Except it didn't. Except instead of the blackness of death he was finally welcoming in the world started to brighten around him, his mind began to stir and he realized he was not going to die. Oh no, his fate was one much worse than death. Even the pained groan that slithered from his dry mouth which tasted of despair and ashes and felt dryer than the Western Approach only served to cause further pain and tug him stubbornly along into consciousness. With a heavy heart Hawke decided he needed to open his eyes, to wake up. With a mighty struggle worthy of bardic song and Chevalier heroism he pulled one eye open. It was a grave mistake.

The light stabbed him. It shot into his eye with a truly vicious cheeriness that lanced pain through his very soul. The wicked and vengeful sun laughed in his face, chortled gayly at his writhings and curses. He wanted to die. His body reeled against him, his head felt as if it had exploded. There was no pounding, no beating of demon's fists against his skull trying to break free, he had already accomplished his goal and was dancing around in the maker-be-damned merry sunlight rejoicing in Hawke's pain. His stomach had turned to swamp. His whole innards had probably melted into mush and were wallowing about in his body, gurgling, bubbling and roiling in anger at his slightest movement. Just the thought of opening his eyes once more caused the murky mire in his body to welter and his head to roar and shriek in protest.

But something felt wrong. The bed, for though it was hard and scratchy he was sure it had to be a bed, didn't feel right. The smells weren't right, the lighting wasn't right. With herculean force he wretched one eye open once more, this time forcing it to stay that way, desperately pushing back the nausea and crushing pain in his gut and head respectively to take in the scene before him.

He was facing a window. This was particularly upsetting. His bed was not near a window. His bed was against the inside wall shared with the twins' room. With more effort and struggle he managed to roll his singular eye around the viewable area and froze. Oh Maker take him Leto. He was in Leto's bed. What the fuck was he doing in Leto's bed? Then shattered pieces of the night came rushing back to him, shredding him apart with razor sharp edges and glittering in mocking joviality at the horror of the situation.

But I wanna play with you.

The words rocketed through him, ripped a whole in his chest, swept the breath from his lungs as full, unedited, unabashed consternation filled him. Oh no... Oh no, no, no he had not said that. He had not said anything like that. It was a dream. That was it. It was just a very bad dream, a terrible, awful, no good very bad dream. None of it had happened and he was still in a hellish nightmare and it would all be okay. He would wake up slumped against some wall where he'd passed out pissing, robbed and beaten by some petty thugs and everything, absolutely everything was going to be okay. He would saunter on home, explain away the cuts and bruises and none of this horrid experience would ever, ever have happened. So it was with a bright smile that wistful sigh that he closed his eye, took a breath, and popped it open again.

The sun wasted no time in assaulting him once more, as if berating him for his foolish thoughts.

Oh you thought getting drunk would be fun? It seemed to chuckle Oh you thought nothing bad would come of this? Oh how cute, how so very quaint. This will be fun.

"Well fuck you, too, sun." Hawke croaked out though parched throat, sandy tongue and chapped lips. It was this that caused the elf beside him to stir.

Panic charged through Hawke's body like a lightening bolt. Adrenaline coursed his veins, setting them ablaze, causing the hapless mulch that was once his stomach to give a great heave and threaten to upset the delicate balance he was holding within himself. As Leto gave a great yawn and arched his body in a slow stretch Hawke did the only thing he could think to do, the only clearly logical thing, he snapped his eye shut and let loose a bellow of a snore. There, definitive proof that he was definitely still asleep. Nope, no waking him, not when he was yawning like that. Sleep, sleep, sleep, nothing to see here.

"Hawke."

Snore.

"Hawke. You're not asleep."

Leto was onto him. A fresh wave of hysteria rushed over him and he over compensated by giving a far-too-loud, far-too-long snore. Leto said nothing this time but Hawke could practically feel the other's gaze on him. He squirmed under the scrutiny, trying to play it off like some kind of bad dream. The elf just cleared his throat pointedly. Before Hawke could catch himself he screwed up his face and made a high pitched mockery of the stern sound Leto had given him. He flinched at his error immediately, "Fuck." The curse was soft and swift and followed by a second when he realized his mistake. Leto simply continued to stare at the hot mess of a human next to him.

"By all means take your time. Whenever you're ready, the dawn will wait for you."

Finally Hawke pried an eye open and gave his best glare at the boy who was now sitting next to him. Leto gazed passively and waited for this day's childish tirade to end. Hawke flushed white as the world gave a hard spin and his body did not react well. Leto half leapt back, half shoved Hawke towards the edge of the bed, his foot hesitate for a moment as he contemplated whether pushing the human off the bed was indeed the best course of option.

Garrett's body hit the floor with a leaden thump. THen proceeded to pulse with pain and betrayal. "Whyyyyyy," he half whined half gasped at the not so sudden not so attack.

"Just heal yourself you ninny." Leto muttered, thoroughly uninterested now that the threat of puke on himself or his belongings was abated.

"I'm so weeeeeak." The mage whined again, curling his body in on itself in despair.

Once again a purposeful silence filled the room. Garrett let out little whimpers as he tugged roughly at the magic coiled within him, ripping it free and blasting his body and a large sphere around him with a pulse of healing. The effort was immense and left him drained and, in some ways, feeling worse than before. But, he noted with a small spark of satisfaction, that his stomach and other bodily organs had returned to their normal and appropriate shapes, and his head was once more pieced together.

"If you're quite finished?"

Hawke grumbled a mocking Neh neh neh, if you're quite finished in a high, nasally voice.

"Care to tell me about this... Aiden? Was it?"

Garrett wasn't sure which was worse, having to talk about Aiden or having to address what he had said to his brother not six hours ago. So he settled for groaning and rolling onto his side on the hard, cool floor, squinting up at Leto. The elf raised a hand and drew the curtain then quirked an eyebrow, "Well, do go on."

"He's... Ugh." Hawke rolled onto his back, "He's Alyssa's brother, okay?"

"And?"

"And nothing, alright?" Garret let the silence drag on painfully, dragging it across the jagged rocks of the Storm Coast itself before finally succombing to the tension, "And I like him, okay?"

Leto nodded thoughtfully, "Like..."

"Like as in I want to stick my tongue in his face hole, okay?"

The elf snorted with surprise and let a long, boisterious laugh escape him, "Well I was going to put it more delicately than that. But as long as you're the one saying it."

The mage just groaned again and threw an arm over his eyes, "I don't know what's going on. I went on the date with Alyssa and nothing. Then her brother came with us and we kissed and... everything."

"So you're...?"

The question was obvious and Hawke just shrugged and sighed, "Maybe? I don't know. I like one guy. Does that automatically make me..."

"Well, yeah, it kinda does. You like guys."

"Not guys just him. Just that one guy."

"Mhm, and I'm sure that explains your little bit last night, too?"

His body tensed, feign innocence, feign ignorance, he'll never know!, "What little bit? I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Haven't the faintest, eh? You always try to sound fancy when you're lying, you know that, right?"

Garrett went to mock the elf again but couldn't muster up the energy to be so jaded, "Fine. It was stupid, I was drunk." His face was bright read and he could feel the blush washing down his entire body, the sheer embarrassment filling him, crushing out every other emotion and nerve ending and flooding him with guilt and shame. "I was drunk and Aiden and I were kissing so I was horny and I came back and you were there-" He cut himself off and cried out in frustration, unable to bottle up the sheer chagrin any more. "I was drunk and horny and stupid and I'm sorry and lets never mention it again, okay?" Leto balked at the outburst then smirked, "You might want to say that a bit loud, I'm not sure the east end of Lothering heard you quite as clearly as you'd like."

"Shut up, okay? Just shut your big fat head."

"Ah, see, there's the Hawke I know. So eloquent." Hawke just lay motionless, letting his own self loathing and sorrow wash around him. Leto spoke again quietly, reaching out with a gentle voice, coaxing Hawke back from whatever edge he was teetering on, "Hawke. I'm sorry." The human didn't respond. "Hawke... do you really..." He wasn't sure how to finish the question and Hawke dropped his arm to gaze at him in confusion. "I mean... If you're gay... Did you really want to-?"

"Kiss you?"

"That."

The human paused to contemplate the question before asking carefully, "Are you-?" Again the word was so heavily implied that it might have been a slap to the face. "I- I rightfully don't know." Leto finally conceeded, "I've never thought... In Tevinter, as a slave. And even here." At that Garrett sat up, pushing himself onto his hands, head cocked to the side, gazing intently at the elf, "Never a single girl? Or guy? Not any one who caught your attention?" Again Leto simply shrugged and shook his head, "It would have been foolish to even think. It never occurred to me to even bother looking."

Hawke stood carefully, "Well maybe..." He sat uneasily, carefully, more perched than sitting, on the edge of Leto's bed. "I mean if we-?" The elf practically gulped and shrugged in reply, "I guess..."

The two shifted awkwardly for a few seconds before finally leaning in slowly, eyes squeezed shut, as if preparing for the worst. Their lips met and the worst was not enough. Hawke jerked back, spluttering and spitting, making retching noises and gagging exaggeratedly. Leto simply scowled and swiped the back of his hand across his lips. Hawke continued to put on a show, splayed on the floor, heaving and crying out in pain and disgust.

"I get it. It was gross."

Hawke did not stop.

"Oh sod it all." Leto stood up, planted a foot firmly in Hawke's belly and stepped hard over him to get to the dresser. Hawke gave a loud oof and nearly did throw up that time. But broke down in to hearty laughter at the sight of his brother so upset and flustered. "Oh, come on, don't tell me I hurt you wittwe bitty feewings." Leto threw a boot at his face and Hawke dodged just in time. But continued to chuckle quietly as he picked himself up off the ground. He was about to give some snide reply when Bethany poked her head in the door, face heavy and serious.

"There's some one at the door-"

Hawke beamed and made to push by her, "Oh I shouldn't keep Alyssa waiting! She will be so worried after I got ill last night, she'll want to know I'm okay."

Bethany held up a hand to stop him, "It's not Alyssa."

"Aiden, then-"

"It's not any one you know. It's not even for you." She looked warily over at Leto, "It's for him." Her voice was quiet, almost scared. The tone sent a chill up both of the boys' spines. Leto tugged a shirt and on and strode quickly from the room, Garrett right on his heel. The whole family stood by the front door, so cluttered together that Leto was unable to make out the figure waiting on the stoop for him. He could make out some very choice and harsh words being said by Malcolm to the visitor but that was all. And as he approached the voice cut short and the small group parted for him.

The man in the doorway was clearly wealthy. He wore fine robes of silk and satin and a hood with pointed decorations over his ears lined in silver. Strange garb, he'd never seen it before, which made him frown.

"Salve, servus. I have a letter for you." Leto stiffened, his jaw tightened and his hands clenched to fists by his side. He didn't know this man, didn't know his voice, but he knew those words, he knew that accent, he knew that language and it all screamed to him, Tevinter. The man extended a hand, in it a thick, weighty scroll. Leto almost didn't take it but something about that voice, about the power this man commanded, about the way his presence dominated and washed over him. HIs old life rushed back over him for a moment and his knees almost bent, he almost dropped to the floor, averted his eyes, allowed the scroll to be dropped before him because how could he ever be worthy to take such a thing from this man's hand.

But with a twitch and grimaced, hardened himself and snatched the scroll away. He didn't do it to be rude but it was the only way he would be able to take the paper from the man's hand. The man just smirked, which quickly devolved into a sneer as he inclined his head just slightly to the family, but not to Leto, never to Leto.

"From Danarius."


	10. Chapter 10

Malcolm erupted immediately. He was swearing, demanding the man leave, calling down the wrath of every god he knew. The man just stood still, a smug, conquering smirk creasing the corners of his lips, his cold, dark eyes locked onto Leto's. Leto felt the power radiating off the stranger in waves, the confidence, the arrogance. A hard shiver ran through his whole being and his knees were quaking, begging his body to give way. Every fiber of his being was trembling with the need to bow, to crouch before this mage and offer total subservience. His mind reeled in protest and fought hard against the compulsion.

And in that moment he broke. His consciousness snapped and it was all he could muster to turn and bolt out the back door, the soft mocking laughter of the Tevinter dancing after him even after he was out of earshot. That horrid low chuckle, that awful chortle of triumph of knowing, of winning. It was a laugh distinct to the mages of Tevinter, it was a cruel noise, one born of superior station and masochism. It was the laugh that Danarius used after beating a slave into submission. It was the laugh that haunted his worst nightmares and that chased him through the streets of Orlais so many years ago. Now it was dogging him again, nipping at his heels as he half stumbled half ran across the back yard.

Up the hill, managing to steady himself on the smooth incline towards the apple orchard. His mind screamed and beat against his skull, raging against it's weakness, warring against the will that still bent and bowed him over. His breath was ragged and harsh, ripping in and out of his lungs hard enough that he could swear he tasted blood. His heart bounded in his chest, blood only half rushing through it's vessels as the pace became to quick to effectively circulate it. His head spun and a roaring rose steadily in his ears.

He kept running.

Leto's fist was tight around the scroll, knuckles going white and sweat seeping steadily into the thick parchment coiled around the dense, wooden rod. He skidded around the second to last row of trees and charged onward, tearing through the narrow semi-path that he and Garrett had discovered as children. The tight twigs and branches of young trees and tall bushes caught, clung, and ripped at his face and arms. Vines and thorns snared into his hair and pants, ripping holes and tearing dark brown locks free. The pain didn't register. The elf didn't care. He streaked through the dense underbrush, feeling warm trickles of blood dripping carefully down his cheeks and neck, winding easy paths across his dark skin only to dry and crust after a few inches of travel, leaving his skin crawling and itching. He cursed under his breath and scratched hard at his face and neck, half scrubbing half trying to peel away any evidence of the tears he could feel squeezing free from the corners of his eyes.

When he was within reach of the old climbing tree he leapt the last few feet to land unsteadily on a low hanging branch. The bark bit into his bare feet, carved into his hands, scoured against the bare skin of his arms as he dragged himself up branch by branch. He scrambled, slipped, clawed, and desperately dragged his way up the towering pine. The whole tree swayed against his efforts and it took a mighty force to keep himself steadied. Finally the branches grew too thin, too sparse and began to snap under his weight and abuse.

He kept climbing.

His hands struggled for holds and his feet sought branches that would bear his weight. Finally he went one step too far and a foot hold snapped followed by his chosen hand hold, which could not take the sudden weight applied to it. Leto crashed down through the thin branches, managing to catch himself on a larger branch a few feet down, luckily uninjured from the sudden, short tumble.

He pressed his shoulder to the sturdy tree and felt his body whirling within his skin. His heart was skipping and faultering, his lungs couldn't suck in enough air. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe; his mind had forgotten how to run his body, had forgot even the most mechanical and automatic of functions, and he could feel his whole self slowly shutting down piece by piece.

How foolish. How fucking foolish. To believe he had been free, to believe he could ever have been free, to believe that freedom should even have been a thought in his mind. How childish and stupid, how utterly ridiculous. He should have known, he should have realized long before now that he was first and always property and would always be property. Maker be damned, this whole world be damned. How could he have ever hoped, how could he have ever dreamed? All those years of joyful bliss, all those years of ignorance and happiness. He had waited, Danarius had waited, had known, had picked his moment struck right when he knew it would crush Leto the hardest, the fastest, the most efficiently. He wanted his little slave back, but obedient, subservient, compliant. He just needed to break him.

It was working. Leto could feel everything shattering around him. No, not shattering. This wasn't some illusion exploding into pieces, some window or mirror; this wasn't a house crumbling to his feet. This was a fissure cracking open in the earth itself, devils and demons dancing in it's depths, a chorus of that mocking laughter. This was the very sky above him breaking open in great crevices, cleaved open and tumbling helplessly around him, smashing around his feet. This was his own mind ripping to pieces, falling into hopeless tatters. His lungs were failing, his heart was staggering under the weight of it all, under the pressure of it all, under the truth and reality of everything. No space could be big enough to allow his lungs to fill, no space could be free enough to allow his heart to beat; he was trapped, caged, slave to his own mind and body already and he needed to escape. He needed to rid himself of the burden, he needed-

A warmth spread across his shoulder and for a moment he was sure he had actually been seriously injured and was finally noticing the blood seeping into his linen shirt. His body gave a heave and he tried to wrench him self away from the feeling, it was a grounding real feeling, firm and steady, and he didn't want it, he didn't want the feeling of his life seeping away through the cracks of skin and muscle. He couldn't escape it though and so he screamed. He released a haggard and desperate bellow that rocked the very ground beneath him. He shrieked and the birds joined in, a dissonate chorus that echoed eerily through the all-too-still morning. He cried out again and again, his voice going hoarse, his calls dissolving into sobs until eventually his body was just shaking and twitching and convulsing with fear and sorrow and an uncontrollable tempest of emotions that ravaged his lithe, tired frame.

But still that warm grounding feeling stayed planted on his shoulder. Still it stayed and steadied him.

"Feel the bark."

The voice was low, quiet, as steady and solid as the warmth on his shoulder. He just cried out again in response and slammed his shoulder against the trunk of the tree.

"Feel the bark, Leto."

His breath came in shaky but he looked at the trunk, pressing one cracked, tattered and broken hand against it.

"Feel how rough it is, how cool it is from the night. Feel the sun warm on your face. Feel the breeze in your hair. Feel the branch holding you."

With each word the world came back to him. Slowly his body calmed, his mind stabilized.

"Now breathe."

It was as if the voice was his own mind, for with those words his lungs expanded, sucking in a deep breath, Oxygen filling his cells, his body singing praise as it was fed much needed air.

"Good. Steady now. What did the letter say?"

He had forgotten about the letter, clenched tight in one fist. He wasn't sure he could open his hand, he wasn't sure his mind was capable of prying his fingers loose.

"Steady... Steady. Just open your fingers."

Slowly his fingers peeled away from the damn parchment, his own mind no longer in control it seemed, his voice dictating his actions, calming him, directing his muscles for him.

"Open it."

He did so with careful, deliberate movements. Luckily the paper was thick enough that his sweat had not smeared or smudged the spidery handwriting scrawled across the page.

"Read it."

But he could not read. He was never taught to read, the markings on the page were fine, delicate scribbles and blurred before his eyes and seemed nothing more than fanciful scribbles.

"Breathe, Leto. One word at a time. Read it aloud."

The scribbles begrudgingly eased themselves into letters and eventually words, then whole sentences and paragraphs. Yes, yes, he knew this. He could read. Malcolm, yes Malcolm had taught him so long ago. This was simple, this was easy, this he could do. The realization cemented in his mind, the reality settled heavily around him. The words dragged him back from the brink, grounded him to the world. It swept away the crumbled sky, sealed up the deep gash in the earth, held him and cradled him in existence. He needed that, he needed something real, something firm, something to stay him.

 _Leto,_

 _I hope you have enjoyed your little vacation. I hope you have enjoyed your time of carefree freedom. Have you? Have you enjoyed it enough for your family? Those you had abandoned ten years ago? They have suffered for you. I sincerely hope your wild flight of fancy was worth everything you've put them through._

The words rived his heart and rent a gash in his very soul. Or perhaps they had just brought to light a piece of himself that had always been missing, a piece that had been left with his real family back in Minrathos.

"Focus on the words."

 _Out of the kindness of my heart I have conceived of a way for you to seek forgiveness for you crimes. You may return unharmed and free of sin, provided you complete one simple task._

No, no he would never go back. He would never return. He had escaped and no promises of mercy and forgiveness would ever lure him back. He would run, he would run forever, he would run and kill and hide and whatever else it took, for however long it took.

"Words, Leto."

 _Or, perhaps, if mercy is not what you seek I can offer you freedom, of a different sort. If you wish your family to be free then all you need to is complete my task. By all means, feel no need to do so, they have been good slaves, faithful and loyal. Your sister especially has potential. She is so strong, so determined. Imagine how powerful her blood must be._

He wanted to roar, wanted to rip the paper to shreds, wanted to set it ablaze, throw it to the wind. He wanted to find the messenger and strangle him, to follow his filthy steps back to Minrathos itself and slay Danarius for his words, for his threats. How dare he, how dare he.

"Words."

 _The Archon himself is hosting the Grand Tourney, in Fereldan, no less. The prize is a secret, but there have been whispers. I have heard reports that you have turned into a fine warrior over the years, my little Leto, and I am so very proud at your dedication._

His body revolted against the words, his stomach heaved and he wanted to vomit, wanted to bash his head against the tree until he went blind, until he forgot the wretched things had every been written, that the letter even existed. But he managed to collect his thoughts before the voice spoke again, with an easy, steading breath, he turned back to the paper.

 _If you compete, and win, as my champion, you will be rewarded. You will return to Minrathos a hero, a Champion. You will be forgiven for your treachery and you will win the freedom of your mother and sister. That is my boon to you._

 _If you would like to accept my offer you need only speak to Lord Marellus, the man who delivered this letter to you. He will provide you with all necessary equipment._

 _I look forward to your return, my pet._

It was an after thought, a final line scribbled with half a thought, which only angered him the more. The emotional storm began to rise again but that pressure on his shoulder fought it back, held his body to the earth, grounded his mind with an overwhelming, calming force. A hand reached before him and clutched the scroll, carefully removing it from his grasp. When it was gone the air seemed to break open, a spell broke and his mind snapped back, his body sagged, a sudden endless exhaustion rolling over him. He had a flash of panic as he began to slip back off the branch but his body met something warm, which stopped him.

"You're okay. Everything is okay. Lets get home." The voice now rumbled through him from the chest of the male he was leaning against. He turned to look, for the first time, and was met with Garrett's steady, calm gaze. He just gave a slow nod and pulled himself upright, following the human down through the maze of branches and forest and back home.

* * *

Leto didn't leave his bed for four days. He remained, curled, spirit and mind still mending themselves, sifting slowly and carefully through the problem before him. The letter lay untouched on the floor by his bed, he didn't need to read it again because he knew. He knew every word. Every letter and syllable burned through his nerves like a fire.

Garrett remained with him every moment. Bethany and Carver diverted Alyssa and Aiden whenever they came to visit, shrugging and feigning ignorance about his whereabouts, or else making up some excuse about him being ill. Meanwhile he sat on the floor, back braced against his best friend's bed, hands absently weaving tight circles of fire or ice, or spinning healing magic into delicate patterns, every muscle and fiber of his being focused on control and power. When eventually he would become frustrated with the task or bored he would crush the magic viciously between his hands and imagine it was Danarius.

And when night fell Hawke would drop his head back against a pillow he propped against the bed and sing softly into the darkness,

 _"Oh all your life you never thought_  
 _You'd end here, hold on_  
 _And all the glass is in pieces_  
 _And the maids are in tears, hold on_  
 _Now you're waiting for a rescue_  
 _But no snow-white horse shows up for you_

 _There's no mercy sleep under stolen sheets_  
 _In a stillborn dream when your soul is empty_  
 _When your path is dark and your compass gone_  
 _When your map is torn, torn,_  
 _Hold on, Hold on, Hold on..."_

And eventually Leto would drift off to sleep, his breathing would even out and slow and Hawke would listen to the lullaby of his slumber and allow himself to drift off as well to the subtle music of the other's body.

So the routine continued, Hawke only leaving to bring Leto food, Leto only moving to eat or shift position, and no one daring to disturb the pair.

When the sun rose to noon on the fourth day Leto slowly, carefully swung his legs off the side of the bed and laboriously pushed himself to stand, followed quickly by Garrett who scrambled up from the floor next to him. The elf's voice was low and rumbling, hoarse still from disuse and the shouts of a few days ago, "I am going to see Lord Marellus." Hawke's body tensed and he reached a hand out to Leto, who side stepped it easily, "I will be competing." His bright eyes cast down, his brow furrowed, "I left. Without thought or care. They have suffered for me long enough. I will rescue them. I will free them." When he met Hawke's gaze again the human nearly staggered back a step, the intensity in Leto's eyes was so strong.

All he could do was nod and croak out, "What... what do you need from me?"

Leto's eyes turned almost sad before he set his face in impassive thought, "I need you to let me go. And to help your family let me go."

Garrett felt sorrow dig through him, crash through his body like a hurricane, "Leto, please-"

The elf grabbed Hawke's face in his hands and locked eyes, "Don't. Don't stop me."

He just shook his head, "No, Leto, no, there's got to be-"

"I will return, Hawke. I promise. No matter how far I go, no matter how long I'm away." And before Hawke could speak Leto enveloped in him a crushing hug, pulling their bodies tight together and holding on. Garrett's arms flew around his friend's body and pulled him in tighter. The embrace felt more like they were clinging to each other, holding on for dear life through a rough and ragged storm. Leto's hands fisted in his shirt and he buried his face in Hawke's shoulder, grasping tightly to the other male.

"And I will come for you. I will find you, I will tear down all of Minrathos if that's what it takes, I will-" His words choked in his throat and a little broken sob slipped free before he could stop it, "I swear to you, Leto. I swear."

Leto just stepped away, pushing his once brother away, his eyes were sad but he nodded, "Goodbye-" He paused, a slight frown creasing his brow and when he met Hawke's eyes again there was a little smile on his lips, "Goodbye, Garrett."

His heart had been ripped out. His soul was torn asunder and his body was the only living part of him left. As Leto turned and left the room, Garrett could do nothing but collapse to his knees and drop his forehead to the cold, wooden floor, allowing his body to shake and wrack with violent and painful sobs. His brother, his best friend, was returning to the man who enslaved him, who abused him, who used him; a wretched and vile man who didn't deserve to so much as know of the world, nevermind be apart of it, a man who was more demon than human, who was who full of cruelty and malice that Garrett would be surprised if it was those traits alone which sustained him. He was going back, he was fighting to win the right to return to that. And all Garrett could do was nothing. All he could do was watch and hope he didn't get killed in the Grand Tourney. All he could do was hope he won, was hope that he won so that he could return to that monster of a man.

The thought made him sick and he had to run to the window to empty his stomach into the flower garden below because the whole ordeal was so grotesque.

* * *

Everyone reacted differently. Bethany cried, Leandra stood quiet and stoic but the pain was evident in every line of her face, Carver acted sour and moody, more so than usual. But perhaps Malcolm took it the worst. He disappeared into the woods shortly after Leto left to talk to Lord Marellus and didn't return until the house had fallen into an uneasy and light slumber. Hawke couldn't sleep and so he lay awake, listening to his parents argue for the first time since his father brought a broken, half dead little elf boy home ten years ago. He heard the door slam then quiet, muffled, controlled hiccups as his mother returned to her room.

Hawke's carefully constructed world was in shambles around him. He struggled to pick up all the pieces, splintering faster than he could put them back together, grasped at solutions then shook them away and finally rolled on his side and curled a pillow against his chest. Leto was right. He had to let him go. He had to let him go so that he could hold his family together, so that he could be strong and he could bind them and he could carry them through the storm. He needed to let go because holding on was too hard, because holding on meant being ripped away from the shore and lost at see and watching his family scatter as leaves in the wind.

But that's what scared him even more. He had to hold every one together, had to stand alone against the tide that threatened to wash them all away. How could he manage that? How could he do that when he was already so broken the lightest tickle of a wave would unmake him? How could he expect to keep every one else together when he couldn't even hold himself?

He had to truly let go. He had to allow himself to forget. He had to give up hope.

"Leto, forgive me." And his heart broke completely.


	11. Part Two: Wilderness Alone

_"I started out, glory bound, a grand symphony,_  
 _ringing like a bell, hallelujah jubilee._  
 _I fluttered on the wind, and sang like a bird,_  
 _and forevermore is the song I heard._  
 _I took off for Heaven,_  
 _I sank like a stone._

 _I started out all beautiful, and ended up in the wilderness alone."_  
 ** _-Joe Crookston (Wilderness Alone)_**

It wasn't long before word came to town of the Grand Tourney, the first ever to be held in Fereldan. Some merchants from Denerim brought news of a large carnival settling it's roots in the field just outside the walls of the city.

One week. It had been one long, tortuous week since Leto had left. The entire Hawke felt the pain, felt the sting, felt the emptiness both in the house and in each of their hearts. Everyone but Garrett. The eldest Hawke child was determined to keep his word to his... his then-brother? once-brother? ex-brother? Friend? Acquaintance? Some one he used to know? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was that he kept his promise, to let go, to help his family let go, to hold everyone together in the trying days to come.

Hawke brought Carver to his sword lessons, trained with him every day, as if he could replace Leto, as if he could start a relationship they never had, never would have. A part of him swore he really was trying to help his little brother, grow close to him, mend the loss he must be feeling. But a small voice in the very back of his mind whispered to him every day, maybe today. Maybe today Leto will be there. Maybe today you'll catch a glimpse of him in the crowds, moving through the town... Maybe. The day never came. For a month he kept his eyes wide, strained his ears, praying that he would hear that rumbling voice, spot his tall, lithe frame. And for a month the little hope he held in reserve slowly dwindled and eventually died. It was as if the elf had just disappeared. As if he had never existed in the first place. He had left to talk to that conniving Tevinter mage and had never returned, never sent word, just vanished.

Garrett assumed the pair had made their way to Denerim in preparation for the Grand Tourney but the city was too far a journey and he had too much to do around the house. Every morning was spent helping his mother make breakfast, then helping Carver with his swordplay, back home to cook lunch, out to the market to sell his father's potions and help out with odd-jobs around town to help earn money, back in time for dinner, then more practice with Carver and finally sleep. Nights were short, sleep was light and fitful and in the morning he awoke to do it all again.

He kept himself busy to keep from falling apart, and the more the worked the more sturdy the cracks became until soon they were all filled up, until soon he was whole and solid once more. Until there was no sting when Leto slipped from someone's tongue on accident, until he could sleep alone in his room and not feel the heavy weight of loneliness and empty spaces, until the elf was barely a passing thought on his mind. Slowly over the course of the long month all the wounds were healed. And slowly, over the course of the month his sleep became deeper, though with each passing week his dreams became sparse and attenuated until, eventually, endless nights rolled by without even the feeblest flicker of the Fade.

It was with two months left before the commencement of the Grand Tourney that Malcolm left, off on one of his long journeys that took him months to complete. Only Leandra knew where he went but she was always loath to tell the kids. It didn't matter, really. What mattered was that Bethany continue her studies even in his absence. Garrett decided to pick that up as well. The morning after their father left Garrett sent Carver into town on his own before bringing his sister out back to practice.

"Alright, Bethy," she flinched at the nickname, Garrett did not. It used to sting, used to dredge up memories and flood him with the pain of it all but now it just landed like a heavy thump against his lips, "where did you and dad leave off?"

She was acting sad and waif-y so Garrett snapped his fingers, "Bethany, where did you and dad leave off?"

"I don't know... Lightening... or something I guess."

Garrett nodded, pursing his lips, "Why don't you show me what you know and we can go from there?"

What she knew was mediocre and unimpressive, though Garrett suspected it wasn't up to her full potential and that she was just letting her emotions get in the way of her focus and drive. "Try again." He murmured simply, waving a hand at her, "Cut out this moping and fucking do something, Andraste forbid anyone in this house ever feel cheery again, right?" Bethany glared death at him and lashed out with a sharp spray of ice, an easy enough attack to block. It was more a show of anger and frustration than any attempt to really hurt him. Garrett swiped his hand in a tight arc through the air, allowing magic to seep from his arm and curl into tendrils of fire to melt the oncoming attack.

Which meant the wind knocked from his lungs and his body jolted with surprise as a dozen icy spears lanced through his clothing, tearing at his arms and hands, catching long, jagged gashes along his sides and face. He managed to throw his arms up in time to swipe away the barrage headed straight for his heart but after the flailing gesture he simply froze in place. Bethany's glare had died in an instant when the winter daggers had begun to strike their target and she was quickly rushing over to him, hands out, the green glow of healing already buzzing and sparking around her splayed fingertips. Apologies rang from her lips and Garrett could hear the quiver in her voice that meant tears were right behind.

"Hush up, Bethy. I'm fine." He waved her off he could heal himself. "Practice lightening spheres, see how big you can make it with out losing control. I don't want anything bigger than your head until I'm watching, in case something goes wrong, understood?"

She nodded weakly, mouth half agape, struggling to hold in the sorrow, regret and quickly draining anger. But she did as she was told, taking a seat several feet away and beginning to conjure a small, tight ball of crackling and snapping energy. Garrett nodded his approval before turning his attention to his own needs. He gently palpated along his cheek, trying to find the wound that was streaming blood into his collar and down his neck, a hiss and stab of pain alerted him to it's location. With careful, dancing fingers he flickered the healing spell along the cut.

Except the cut kept bleeding.

He frowned at his hand in confusion. With a heavy and aggitated sigh he pulled his mind back into himself and dug around through his chest for the little well of magic. He withdrew, heart now beating unsteadily, body starting to shake a little with the anxiety of the situation, then plunged in again, sifting through soul and heart, digging deep into blood and sinew tearing around in a desperate search for the mana he knew, he knew had to be lurking somewhere. But still, he found nothing. Garrett shook his head then sucked in a deep breath through his nose. He was being crazy. He was just stressing himself out and trying too hard, like when he was a little kid. He relaxed his mind and eased into a state of half meditation, allowing the warm feel of fade and magic to creep out along his nerves, in his very blood.

But he felt nothing. There was no warmth, there was no tingling, there was no power and energy stinging at his fingertips. There was a hollow with him where his magic usually hummed, a silence ringing stilly through his entire being, a disconnect and severed feeling he'd never known before. "What-..." He flicked his hand, whipped his whole arm in a snapping arc and nothing. Nothing. "STOP! What?" He stomped his foot, jerked his arms and awkward motions as if he could force his magic out by simply waving around fast enough.

Bethany was up on her feet now, sprinting towards him, "Garrett, Garrett- stop! Garrett what are you doing, stop!"

He spun around wildly and she just barely managed to jump back in time to avoid a harsh slap across the face. Garrett jerked back himself, clutching his hand to his chest like it was broken. And, in a sense, it was. "Staff-" he managed to choke out, "Bethy, get my staff." His sister nodded, hurt, confusion and fear coursing through her eyes as she tore her gaze away from him to run into the house. When she returned their mother was with her, face all lines and worry.

"Sweetie?"

Garrett snatched his staff and sighed with relief, feeling the heavy weight of the oak in his hands. With an easy, steady swing he began to weave the staff around him, feeling the rhythm. He felt the glide and swing of the staff but still the power was missing. The energy, the charge, the essence that had course through his very bones from the moment he was born had vanished. He had never known how present it was, how it's low song and gentle sway in his every fiber of being had soothed him, had felt, how constantly it was there within him. Not until now. Not until it was still and silent and dead. He fumbled, the staff suddenly feeling awkward in his grip, and didn't bother to catch it as it clattered to the ground before him.

Leandra rushed to him, gathering her up against her body, "Oh Garrett..." She pushed him away again, running concerned fingers across his forehead over and over, sifting through his thick, dark hair. He knew what she was looking for and shook his head, "No..." He couldn't meet her gaze, he could hardly speak, "It's just... It's gone." Bethany threw her hands over her mouth and her eyes got wide, welling anew with fresh tears. "No..." It was a little squeak of a whisper. At that moment Carver came charging back through the house, wooden sword brandished, eyes wild, body rigid, prepared for a fight.

"I heard shouting, what is it, what's going on?" His head flicked side to side, daring any challenger to step from the shadows or forest. Garrett pulled free of his mother and pressed Carver's sword down as he walked past, earning him a look of confusion from his younger brother.

"His magic." Bethany whispered, covering Carver's hands with her own, easing his arms to relax, pressing for him to drop the sword. Carver shook his head and frowned as their mother brushed by, following her eldest inside, flinching as the door to his bedroom slammed in her face.

Hawke paced in tight circles around his room, flailed his arms, stomped his feet, ripped the sheets off his bed, clawed at his clothing, at his hair, at his own skin, slammed his fists against the floor and walls. He could not be still. He could not be calm. His mind was a flurry and he couldn't handle the reality that was sinking in, couldn't understand, couldn't comprehend what it was that had happened. He check the mirror. He checked the mirror again. He checked the mirror a thousand times until his forehead was red and chaffed from the rubbing and his hair was tousled, tangled and greasy from his grimy hands. No mark. No mark. No mark. No mark. There was never a mark, no matter how much he checked. No brand, no signal of his cut from the fade.

It was just gone. His mind beat against the veil, pounded and battered and thrust itself against the solid opacity that blocked out the realm of spells and dreams. But there it was. He could feel it. He could feel the block, the wall, the impossible barrier that locked out the piece of himself he'd never known could be separated like this. He'd never wanted to know how it would feel to be separated from.

He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but the fade was gone. And every shred of magic within him was sealed within it.


	12. Chapter 12

It was only by the grace of Andraste herself that Leto was not currently being kept in chains.

Lord Marellus was rather confident the elf would not run away. That or he was confident in his own ability to be able to catch him and drag him back, should he attempt it. Whatever the reason was didn't matter. What mattered is that he was trapped. Even if there were no shackles holding him in place his own mind were manacles enough to bind him. With the Hawke's he had a freedom, an independence, a pride even. He could walk with head high, dine at their table, converse openly, smile, laugh. But not here. All he had gained over those ten years quickly fled in the presence of a Tevinter mage once more.

He hadn't dared to look up, to meet this man's eyes, he knelt in the corner until he was dismissed to sleep, or else told to go complete some other task- often sparring and practicing for the Grand Tourney. True to Danarius' word, he had been provided with more than sufficient equipment. The armor he donned each day now had taken three weeks to craft and was tailored perfectly for him. Each time he pulled the weighty pieces into place a small voice at the back of his mind chuckled and reminded him how fitting Garrett would find the garb. Pointed, spiky and sharp. He would have had a field day laughing about it.

He didn't need to shake the thought, or the memories, a heavy sigh washed them all out. He would need to forget, would need to practice putting aside such thoughts without frustration or obvious struggle. When he returned to Minrathos all memories of freedom would need to be discarded. He would not be able to live if they carried on in his mind. He had a year before that day came, he was going to use it wisely and forget and package and box it all away now.

The months leading up to the tourney were filled long days and longer nights. When, finally, he collapsed onto his pad on the floor of a storage closet he felt the weight of the past decade come tumbling down upon him. He would take long, slow breaths and squeeze his eyes closed against the reality of his life. Carefully, haltingly he would push each memory from his mind until none were left, until all that existed was the damp, stale closet and the threatening cloud of the Grand Tourney looming over him. And with each passing week the memories began to fade. As the months themselves began to roll by he found that, if he wanted to recall something, he was forced to dredge it up from the depths of his subconscious and wrestle it into the open. A small part of his soul cringed and ached at the loss but the rest of him swept past it without a second glance. It was for the better.

* * *

At last the day came. After three long months of training, solitude and silence Leto stood in a long, staggered line of warriors, rogues and mages awaiting entrance to the Tourney ring. They were hidden from view from the admiring crowds by a large, white, canvas tent and every single person fidgeted and picked at their armor or gear or teeth, anxiously or absently waiting for the entrance horn to sound. Leto noted solemnly that he was not the only elf, this was a good thing, he would not stand out. It was never good to stand out, then you got cocky, then people would challenge you, then people would know to prepare for you. No, it was best to keep hidden, keep low, keep quiet. A small elf of 16 with mousy brown hair and a Tevinter accent was nothing to raise alarms about. From the looks of some of the other elves, he was not the only one of those either.

At last a fanfare rang throughout the stadium and the curtains at the front of the tent were drawn back and the great procession of competitors began. A slow, winding snake of bodies wove their way through the light, dry dirt of the fighting ring, circling in a wide arc around the edge of the stands. Some people waved and blew kisses, others riled up the crowd with shouts and jeers, some kept their heads bowed, or just looked forward with stoic confidence. Leto did none of these. Instead he searched the faces of those around him, sizing up the competition, putting numbers of various species and fighting styles into place, picking out those who would be easy prey, and those it would be best to avoid.

Eventually they all stood in a large spiral at the center of the ring, all facing a raised podium, halfway up the stands where a pair of figures stood. One wore a smile visible from the end of the ring, he was obviously the announcer. The other... it was unclear. Well, until he spoke. The low voice rang out around the audience and half the elves in the spiral, Leto included, stiffened unconsciously, legs trembling, trying to fight the need to sink down before this man. The voice was clearly Tevinter and, from the way the audience hushed around them, and the way the other slaves quaked in his presence, Leto could easily guess this man was the Archon himself. He was the one hosting this year's event, it would make sense for him to be present, at least for the opening ceremonies. Leto's face hardened and he fought his instinct to avert his eyes. Ultimately, he failed, but when he cast his gaze down into the dirt it was with a stubborn grimace of frustration and disappointment.

The elf was so caught up in his own, inner monologue that he missed the mage's speech entirely. All for the better, he supposed, 'Vint mages were insufferable and proud, nothing he had to say would be worth hearing. And even less of it would have been directed at the competitors, all of it would be boasting and grand standing before the eclectic and gathered audience. Damn Magisters could never resist a chance to boast about the Imperium and all of it's might and wonder. Applause rang out and Leto clapped his hands obligatorily before looking back up to the smiling man, now standing along on his small stage.

"Now! Let us cheer our brave competitors on their way so that the SHOW. CAN. BEGIN!" His voice was high and nasally and made Leto wince with it's sharp, piercing tone. Wonderful. At least he had that to look forward to throughout this long event. Maybe an arrow or spell would fly amiss and strike him down instead... A terrible thought but not a terrible fate for Leto, at least.

The crowd errupted in cheers and the carefully arranged display of fighters quickly dissolved as they shuffled back into the tent from whence they came in one, large, mob. Leto took a seat on a long bench and drew his sword off his back, carefully polishing it, running a stone along the blade to sharpen it and pick out any dents from training.

"Let the show begin." He muttered sourly, his face scrunching in what might be taken as anger, but felt closer to anguish. A heavy sigh rushed from his body and he looked up to the mass of fighters still slipping into the tent and shook his head, "Let the show begin, indeed."

* * *

The carnival would be grounded in Denerim for a year, though the tourney only lasted a day and wouldn't take place for another few months yet. There would be plenty of fighting in the mean time. Contestants could spar each other, could put on shows of agility or strength, could participate in the non-lethal Melees, Ranged and Magic competitions that would occur in the meantime. Leto would participate in some of them, but not within a week of when the Grand Tourney would take place, and only at Marellus' behest. The mage wanted to make some good money off the elf before they went home and betting on him during the smaller fighting competitions would be a good way to do so. Or, in some cases, betting against. It was with a cruel and confident smirk that Marellus approached Leto one day to announce that he would be throwing matches when it was demanded of him.

"If you'd like, think of it as giving people a false sense of your abilities. If that makes you feel better. Really, it's the only dependable way I'll make any money off you. Just don't put up the charade of winning for too long, no sense in getting yourself injured." Leto had bowed his head and nodded. Allowing him to believe it was a strategy, allowing him to deceive himself from the fact he was simply being used. It was a gift. Slaves were not offered the comfort of imagination and pretending to be greater than a mouse caught in a stew. To be permitted to live in a fantasy world in which he was a warrior mastermind, setting out to deceive his opponents and carefully learn their techniques and skills, and most importantly, their weaknesses was a greater offering than he would likely ever see again. He quietly murmured a thank you to the mage before shuffling back into his corner to await further instruction.

Thus Leto was thrust back in to the tedium of Marellus' demanding routine. He participated in the mock competitions 3-4 times a week and spent the other days practicing with any one, or several, of the bodyguards the Tevinter had brought with him. That grew boring quickly, as Leto picked up on each of their styles and quickly learned to turn it against them. The large, plodding guards were easily taken down which swift dodges and a quick slip around behind followed by a solid thwap to the back. The smaller, more agile opponents were often confused by standard weapon forms. They were used to improvisation and quick thinking, when faced against a steady, constant opponent they were unsure how to react. There were no inherent weaknesses in forms and so they found nothing to exploit and were quickly beaten back and into submission. All the while Marellus watched with a small, satisfied smirk, scribbling notes into a small book.

Leto would have scowled at the documentation and record keeping- he was not some prize horse or hunting dog to be tracked- but his own walls and defenses wouldn't let him. Instead he averted his eyes whenever he noticed the mage looking at him and continued on in whatever the exercise of the day was.

* * *

After a long stretch of weeks and months, in which Leto competed in a countless number of training, spars and weapon technique showings, the Grand Melee was finally upon them. The Grand Magics had been first, and contained the smallest number of opponents. That meant odds were good for everyone involved, as the top 20 from each section would be allowed to compete in the Grand Tourney. Then the Grand Ranges, all archers, spear, axe or dagger throwers, which was a fairly sizable group. Then, lastly, was the Grand Melee. It was the largest of the competitions and by far considered the most prestigious. The winner of every Grand Tourney thus far had come from the Melee pool. Every one had been a Warrior of some denomination.

As Leto strode carefully behind Marellus and a handful of body guards towards the competitor's tent he carefully ticked the time by on his fingers. Nine months since he'd left the Hawke's. Six months since the carnival, and the tournaments, had started. Magics had been in the second month, Ranges had been in the fourth, and now the Melee in month six. Now another four months of competitions among the top 60 fighters, 20 from each group, then, in the last month of the event, the day of the Grand Tourney, where the top ten fighters of the entire pool would face off.

Then, should he win, he would be shipped off to Tevinter. Then, should he win, his family would be freed. If he didn't win he would be dead, so he wouldn't be around to worry or care about any possible consequences anyway. The last day all fights were to the death, how typically dramatic. How horribly cliche.

Leto snapped from his thoughts when Marellus snapped his fingers impatiently in his face. "Focus, slave." The word rolled over his tongue with a flourish and burned in Leto's ears, stinging and stabbing at his ear drums and shrieking laughter in the deep recesses of his mind. "This is your first real test. You'll need to be one of the last 20 left standing. If you are not-" there was something gleefully malicious in his smile here, "- or if you fail anywhere else along the way at this point, your Master will have no more use for you." Marellus swept the curtain aside for Leto to enter the tent, that stupid, cruel, awful smirk still tugging coyly at the corners of his mouth.

The elf didn't need him to explain what no more use for you meant. He didn't need a detailed description of what would happen to him should he fail. He knew. He knew what happened to slaves that didn't obey, that couldn't follow orders, that didn't know their place. He knew what happened and the thoughts made him shudder, caused him to shrink back, skirt through the opening the mage offered as quickly as possible, keeping as far from him as possible. Marellus noticed and, as he let the curtain drop behind him, he laughed low and hauntingly.

He had all the power. He had all the power and Leto had nothing. Leto had his armor and sword and the hope of winning so that he might achieve some kind of goodness for someone in his lifetime. Some of the other competitors looked up at him as he scurried into the holding tent, but most were focused on looking scary and menacing, or sharpening their weapons of choice, or pacing, or rocking with fear. Leto scoffed at that, what was there to be afraid of? This was a non-lethal competition. Sure people could lose limbs or eyes or ears but nothing serious. Nothing that the medics on hand couldn't close up in seconds. Nothing they would die from. Fear would only cloud their minds, fear would only lead to mistakes, fear would only drive them to run when they needed to focus and fight.

Leto sat by himself off in a corner and placed his blade across his lap, taking slow, deep breaths to calm his mind, push out all distractions, and center himself. He went through the motions of a fight, put himself in impossible situations, worked his way though every typer of combatant he could think of. His muscles twitched as his thoughts moved through the motions, his breathing evened out, his heart slowed and he felt his body settle into a kind of meditative state. He was ready. A few more, deep breaths and the world seemed to slow around him, the sounds seemed to wash out, only the schliiink of rock on blade, the heavy pants of those around him, the nervous drumming and tapping of the other combatants rang in his mind.

He would win.

* * *

They were positioned in a large circle in the freshly raked, dirt ring, surrounded on all sides by a jeering, cheering, chanting and excited audience. For the last time Leto took stock of the men and women around him. Some were nearly wetting themselves, he would leave them be, they would weed themselves from the mixture. Others were reveling in the joy of the audience, distracted, showy, simple. Others were too serious, trying to look tough or menacing, and on a weaker mind it might have worked. Leto had to keep himself from laughing. What did they understand of guts? Of toughness? Or bravery or courage? Leto wanted to start laughing. He was fighting for his life, he was fighting to throw himself back into slavery for the sake of a family he couldn't remember and would probably never meet again.

He was a madman. He was insane. He was laughing in the face of all these people held dear and smashing it to pieces. Freedom, love, life, happiness. Fuck it. Fuck it all. They should be afraid. Each and every one of them should be quaking in their boots. There was nothing more terrifying than a man with nothing left to lose. Nothing more frightening, more horrifying, more intimidating that someone who had nothing left he loved, nothing left he cared about, nothing left in his life that mattered. Live, die, it didn't matter, he'd end up in the same place either way. Let them come. Let them slash and hack and stab. He would shriek laughter in their face as he sliced them down one by one.

The horn sounded. The world creaked to a crawl. The battle had begun.

Leto charged forward with the rest of the warriors, sword braced, angled down, ready to slice up and under the shield or weapon of the first opponent he came to. It was a young Templar, solid and sturdy in his plate and shield. Leto stepped into him, managing to set his foot just on the inside of the tower shield. The man jabbed at him with his long sword, the elf twisted and leaned sideways, away from the shield, to dodge the blow. His foot lifted and swept out, dragging the shield with it and yanking the young man suddenly off balance. He slammed the hilt of his sword against the side of the heavy helmet then brought his knee swiftly up into the Templar's face. A loud clang run out and he hit the ground with a quiet grunt, momentarily unconscious. Leto moved on quickly while medic mages rushed in to clear away the collapsed body.

Next was a middle aged man dual wielding short swords. He made the mistake of sweeping out at Leto with one of them. Leto quickly bowed back, allowing the blade to wiz past his armor, catching the very tip of the spike or metal on his chest with a quiet clicking noise. Now the man had his back partially turned to him. Foolish move, there was no way he would recover with a backhanded swipe in time. Leto slashed his great sword down in a carefully controlled arch, ripping a large gash in the man's leather and hide armor, meeting skin and drawing a fat line of blood that quickly pooled in the divot before pouring out and down his back and legs. He gasped and cried out in pain, Leto side stepped, and absently lashed a foot out to buckle one of his knees, moving on to the next combatant with only a brief backwards glance, to make sure he was really out of the fight.

And so it continued. Not all Leto's opponents were so slow, stupid or careless. In fact most of them were highly skilled and had him on the defense, dipping and dodging for what felt like an eternity before he spotted an opening. But the fight was long and he was tiring faster than he would have liked. As more people fell only the best were left and his body was getting weary. He had taken several good blows and could feel the bruises on his ribs and legs start to blossom. Leto wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going, or how much longer he would need to, there was constantly someone in his face so he had been unable to check his surroundings to see how the field looked.

Suddenly a splitting pain rocketed through his skull, all but shattering his teeth, causing him to bit off a small piece of his tongue. His spine gave a great shiver and gave way, his whole body plummeting to the ground. He only just managed to catch himself, spitting out the small chuck of muscle as well as a fair amount of blood. He rolled to the side just in time as a large sword planted itself in the dirt he had just occupied. He locked eyes with the visious, towering man above him and immediately knew his match was made. It was all he could to to scramble backwards, leaving his weapon where it was, this was past fighting, all he could do now was pray he'd lasted long enough to secure his place in the top 20. The man advanced easily on him and planted a foot in his chest, shoving him back to the ground, knocking all the wind from his lungs before stomping hard over his ribs.

Leto heard the snapping and cracking of severing bone. He would have cried out but even breathing, even just existing was a blinding, blistering pain he'd never known before. Before the pain had time to process the world gave a mighty swirl and blackness overtook his vision, everything went silent. One final thought drifted through his mind in a high, ringing laugh is this death? Does it even matter? Can I even care?

* * *

He awoke an undeterminable amount of time later in a bed, the wrenching pain in his side nothing more than a dull ache. Marellus sat silently next to him, once again scribbling in that blasted journal. He wanted to reach out and snatch it away, to rip it from his hands and throw it into a puddle, a lake, the ocean itself anything, he didn't care, he just wanted it gone. Marellus must have sensed his thoughts because he snapped the book closed and tucked it into his robes before turning his gaze to the wounded elf before him.

"How do you think you did?"

Leto hadn't expected him to ask how he was doing, how he felt, how his ribs were healing. He didn't consciously expect him to care, it would have bothered him more if the mage had. But still, after so long with a family, in freedom, with friends and parents it stung a little to be back in this life again. It ached in a small fraction of his soul that was still not accustomed to this new way of life. He didn't reply, simply looked away from the mage's piercing eyes and shrugged. He wasn't being beaten, he was still alive, and he was still conscious and sane so he must have done something correct... right?

"You placed 16th." The mage picked at his nails and sighed, "I was rather disappointed in your poor showing, but I trust you will get better. Now, get up, I will finish healing you myself and then you will return to training. I had my guards analyze your flaws and weaknesses. These next six months will not be pleasant. Nor easy. Alas, you've brought it upon yourself so I shall tolerate no complaining. In fact you are not to speak until you make it through these petty squabbles and to the Grand Tourney itself. Get up, now, we're leaving." His voice was bored, tired, almost as though he was some kind of burden. It only fueled the anger and resentment in his chest. Though, not for Marellus, but for himself. How could he let himself fail? How could be be so stupid and blind and weak? He would do better. He must do better. If he didn't do better... If he didn't do better what did it matter in the long run?

Ignoring the pain stretching and pulling across his chest and abdomen, Leto swung his legs off the side of the bed and rose sharply, following Marellus with his head down, a few paces back. He had to stop thinking like that. If he allowed himself to stop caring he would never win. If he allowed the thought of death to rival that of slavery his family had no hope. He was doing this for them. His fate didn't matter. His fate had been sealed for 16 years, and it wasn't going to change now. He had to care about his life because it was the only thing that mattered in giving his family the freedom they deserved. He had to care for them.

In the far, murky depths of his mind a small voice echoed quietly, You made a promise to return. You made a promise you would see him again. You have to care. You have to live. Garrett will be waiting. You made a promise.

Six more months. Scores of battles yet. His body sagged under the weight of it, under the density of it all, under the incomprehensible distance and time of everything. But I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go...


End file.
